L.  J.  DICKINSON 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


L.  J.  DICKINSON 


L.  J.  DICKINSON 


"Yet  I,  a  dull  and  muddy- 
mettled  rascal,  peak, 
Like  John-a-dreams." 

—Hamlet. 


PUBLISHED    BY 

THE    COLWIN  COMPANY 

SUPERIOR 

WISCONSIN 

1915 


Copyright,  1915,  by 
L.  J.  Dickinson 


Press  of  the  Randall  Company 
Saint  Panl 


7) 


FOREWORD 

SOME  rhymes  herein 
have  none  of  the 
grand  bow-wow  to  com 
mend  them  to  the  grown 
up  critic.  Let's  hope  they 
commend  themselves 
to  my  young  friends. 


TO  MY  MOTHER 
LUCY  A.  DICKINSON 

YOU  read  my  heart, 
if  you  cannot  hear 
my  human  voice,  and 
you  know  that  all  I  am 
and  do  is  yours.  You 
formed  and  inspired. 
You  were  and  are  my 
poem.  So  mine  are  yours. 


CONTENTS 

L.  J.  DICKINSON Frontispiece 

Absent        11 

Affinities 12 

Aflight 12 

After  the  Rains 12 

After  the  Storm 13 

Afterwards 13 

All  in  His  Image 14 

All's  Law 14 

Alone 14 

Alone  in  the  Dark 15 

Apprehension 15 

Ashes 16 

Assurance  of  Welcome 16 

At  Home  in  His  Worlds 16 

At  Set  of  Sun 18 

Barren  Acre,  The 18 

Beatrice      18 

Beyond  the  Marge 19 

Birthdays,  The 19 

Black  Wing's  Love 20 

Blind,  The 23 

Body  to  the  Soul,  The 24 

Boulders 25 

Brothers 26 

Butterfly,  The 26 

By  the  Huron 26 

By  the  Lake,  Illustration 27 

Call  of  Northland  Waters,  The,  Illustration 27 

Calm 28 

Challenge,  The      28 

Christmas 28 

Confession     29 

Country  Cemetery,  A      29 

Covered      30 

Cradle  Song 30 

Crown,  The 31 

Day  is  Done,  The 31 

Denied 31 

Deserted 32 

Difference,  The 32 

Divine  Right  of  Kings,  The 32 

Dream,  A 33 

Easter  Lilies 33 

Easter  Thought  of  Heaven,  An 33 

Elfred 33 

Emancipated  Woman,  The 34 

Ensemble,  The      35 


CONTENTS 


Evening  Song 35 

Evidence  of  Things  Not  Seen,  The 35 

Faith       36 

Fate 36 

Father 36 

Father  and  Mother 37 

Fellowship 37 

First  Love      37 

First  Snow,  The 38 

Flirtation,  A      38 

Flower  Girl,  The      38 

Fogs 39 

Footfall,  The 39 

Found 39 

Friend,  A 40 

From  Whence  Cometh  Our  Help       40 

Gaunt  Gray  Wolf 41 

Gleam,  The 41 

God  of  All  the  Earth,  The      41 

Golden  Light 43 

Good  Death       43 

Greatest  King,  The      44 

Gypsy,  The 44 

Handclasp,  The 44 

Heartache 45 

Heart's  Desire 45 

Heart's  Elfland,  The 46 

He  Hath  Remembered  His  People 46 

Her  Look  of  Love 47 

Hid 47 

Hills,  The       48 

His  Seal     48 

Home      48 

House  on  the  Milky  Way,  The      49 

Hushaby 53 

If  a  Man  Ask  for  Bread 54 

If  a  Man  Dies  Shall  He  Live  Again      54 

In  April      56 

Inevitable,  The 56 

In  May      57 

In  Morning  Light 57 

In  the  Autumn 57 

In  the  Morning 58 

In  the  Universal  Language 58 

John  o'  Dreams 11 

Keepsakes,  The 58 

Lay  of  Elfwine      59 

Lesson,  The 61 

Life 62 

Life,  an  Indeterminate  Sentence 62 


CONTENTS 


Little  Boy  that  Died,  The 62 

Little  Children  of  the  Poor,  The 63 

Little  Gold  Curls      63 

Lost  Rose,  The 64 

Lullaby      64 

Made  Sorrow-Wise 65 

Man  and  Inner  Man 65 

Market-Place,  The 66 

Marsh  Weeds 66 

Midwinter      67 

Miller,  The 67 

Mother 68 

Mother-Love 68 

Mourning  Dove,  The 68 

My  Grandmother's  Kitchen 69 

My  Mother's  Hands 70 

My  Ring 70 

Mystery,  The 71 

Nest,  The       71 

Never  Mind  Me 71 

New  Moon,  The 72 

Nobody  Like  You 72 

No  Other  Way      73 

Not  in  Vain 73 

November      74 

Old  School  Slate,  The .  74 

On  the  Marshes 75 

Our  Parting 76 

Peg  Away 76 

Piper,  The     77 

Plant,  The 77 

Playmates      78 

Pluck 78 

Prodigal,  The 78 

Promise,  The 79 

Prospector,  The 79 

Public  School  Teacher,  The 82 

Question,  The 83 

Recompense,  The 83 

Remembered 83 

Reported  Missing 84 

Resolve       85 

Robin's  Question,  The 86 

Robin's  Song,  The    .    . 86 

Rockies,  The 86 

Romance 87 

Sated 87 

Scar,  The 88 

Setting  Star,  The      88 

Soldiers  All    ,  88 


CONTENTS 


Some  Flowers  from  the  Gardens  of  the  Minnesingers: — 

(1).     Four  Anonymous  Poems 119 

(8).     Two  Poems  by  Dietmar  von  Aist 120 

(3).     A  Song  of  the  Mystics 121 

(4).     Four  Poems  by  Walther  von  der  Vogelweide      .    .  121 

Song  of  the  Birch,  The,  Illustration 89 

Song  of  the  Rocks,  Illustration      93 

Son's  Pledge,  A 93 

Sorrow 93 

Soul  Set  Free,  The 94 

Stars  in  the  Dark 95 

Sugar  Snow,  A 95 

Summer  is  Over 96 

Sunday  Morn 96 

Sympathy 96 

Tale  of  Clover,  A 97 

There  Shall  Be  Light 97 

Three  Poems 98 

To  a  Dog 99 

To  Each  His  Burden 100 

To  Mother  on  My  Birthday       100 

To  Mozart 100 

To  Mr.  Merryman 101 

Too  Plain 101 

Tool,  The 102 

Tree,  The 102 

Two  Workers,  The 104 

Unchanged 104 

Understood 104 

Uninterpreted 105 

Veil,  The 105 

Vigil,  The       106 

Violets 107 

Voice  of  Many,  The 107 

Wait  Upon  the  Lord,  Illustration 107 

Water- Wheel,  The 108 

Way,  The      108 

Wayfarer,  A,  Illustration 109 

Weary 109 

Were  I  a  Rose 109 

When  Day  is  Dead 110 

Wife,  The      110 

Wife  of  Waibingen,  The      112 

With  a  Gift  of  Flowers 113 

With  a  Letter 113 

Winter  Fleet,  The 113 

Woman  of  the  Mart 114 

Woman's  World  Conquest      114 

Woolly  Lamb,  The 116 

Word  Absolute,  The 116 

Word  Was  God,  The,  Illustration 116 

Working  Woman,  The 117 

Wreck  of  the  Benjamin  Noble,  The,  Illustration 118 


JOHN  O' DREAMS 


DDD 


John  o'  Dreams 

A  wanderer  by  the  wayside,  I, 

With  a  hungry  heart  and  a  dreaming  eye 

That  sees,  and  not  sees,  the  crowd  pass  by. 

For  I  listen  for  music,  elfin  sweet, 
Strain,  lest  'tis  lost  by  the  trampling  feet, 
Or  acclaim  of  triumph  that  fills  the  street. 

And  I  never  can  join  with  the  passing  crowd. 
I  must  list  for  my  music.     'Tis  not  allowed 
Though  my  heart  is  hungry  and  head  is  bowed. 

If  they  find  me  listening  yet  some  day 
Where  I  let  them  pass  on  the  dusty  way, 
They  need  not  pity  me  then  and  say: 

"He  missed  life  for  music,  and  life  is  sweet." 

For  I  shall  have  risen  with  song-glad  feet 

And  have  followed  where  Music  is  Life  complete. 


Absent 
(In  memory  of  Bessie  Kirtland) 

The  patient-faced  hepatica 

Watched  through  the  April  days, 

And  dropped  in  listing  for  her  feet 
Adown  the  shaded  ways. 


12 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

The  robin  pleaded  her  to  peep, 
He'd  built  his  nest  around. 

The  apple-blossoms  flushed  and  paled 
And  faltered  to  the  ground. 

The  Spring  spread  all  his  glories  out, 

But  she  did  not  behold. 
For  she  had  gone  away  from  us 

Till  all  the  Springs  are  told. 

Affinities 

Thousands  of  roses 
Everywhere  start. 

Each  has  its  drop  of  dew 
Hid  in  its  heart. 

World  full  of  people 
Fill  mead  and  mart. 

One  there  is  of  them  all 
Dear  to  my  heart. 

Aflight 

The  birds  seek  southern  lands 
These  crispy  autumn  days; 

A  warmer  glow 

Calls  them  to  go 
Where  summer  sunshine  plays. 

My  thoughts  are  like  the  birds; 

They  fly  away  to  thee, 
O'er  hill  and  dale, 
O'er  wood  and  vale, 

Wherever  thou  mayst  be. 

After  the  Rains 

After  the  rains 
In  the  country  lanes, 
The  clover  springs  up 
And  the  buttercup, 
After  the  rains. 


JOHN  O'  DREAMS 13 

After  the  tears 
And  the  heartsick  fears, 
Then  melt  all  our  troubles 
And  mad  gladness  bubbles, 
After  the  tears. 


After  the  Storm 

All  the  day  has  been  so  stormy 
And  the  tree-tops  drip  with  rain. 

Why  should  one  harsh  flash  of  lightning 
Come  to  fill  my  heart  with  pain? 

In  the  lurid  light,  a  visage 
I  have  known  in  former  years 

Looks  upon  me,  white  with  passion, 
And  my  pulse  beats  high  with  fears. 

Go  away,  come  not  to  haunt  me 

At  the  closing  of  the  day. 
With  the  storm-clouds  and  the  lightning, 

Go,  I  beg  you,  go  away. 


Afterwards 

After  the  battle  is  done, 

And  the  corpses  lie  stark  in  the  sun, 
Then  the  heart  of  each  man  is  sick 

After  the  battle  is  done. 

After  the  fire  has  swept, 

And  the  trunks  stand  all  charred  where  it  leapt, 
Then  the  heart  of  the  forest  is  sick 

After  the  fire  has  swept. 

After  the  passion  has  fled, 

And  the  waste  places  yield  up  their  dead, 
Then  the  heart  of  hearts  is  sick 

After  the  passion  has  fled. 


14 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

All  in  His  Image 

This  little,  single  human  life  of  mine, 
A  tiny  crumb  let  fall  amid  Fate's  wine; 
A  will,  defiant,  independent,  free; 
A  heart  that  laughs  despite  its  agony, 
That  finds  in  every  face  some  worthiness, 
And  aches  for  human  sort  to  help  and  bless; 
Bereft  of  all  the  ties  that  make  life  sweet 
Yet  running  on  life's  way  with  willing  feet — 
This  human  life  of  mine.     Where  did  it  learn 
That  all  Earth's  lives  are  like  it,  all  must  yearn 
For  something  vast,  forever  wave  on  wave? 
Where  did  this  midget  spirit  learn  to  crave? 
Blest  or  bereft,  the  heart  turns  ever  home; 
Give  less  than  God,  the  soul  must  seek  her  own. 


All's  Law 

Men  say  they  come  not  back,  our  dead, 

A  half-way  truth,  since  they  are  always  here. 

He  has  one  universe,  our  God ! 

And  we  and  they,  together  in  his  hand, 

Are  in  his  world — 

We  go  not,  neither  come,  but  stay. 

I  do  not  know  their  life  beyond  this  flesh, 

But  this  I  know:  His  law  is  law, 

Upon  this  earth,  or  in  the  milky  way. 

The  law  of  right  and  justice  deals  with  them  as  me, 

The  law  of  growth.     We  both  are  in  his  hand, 

I  and  my  dead.     I  do  not  understand. 

It  is  enough,  though  I  know  not  His  worlds, 

I  know  the  Father's  love. 


Alone 

I  wakened  in  the  midnight 
When  all  about  was  still, 

And  groping  through  the  darkness 
Slipped  to  the  window-sill. 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 15 

There  high  above  the  housetops 
The  moon  sailed  red  and  dim, 

From  out  the  murky  shadows 
A  faintly  showing  rim. 

Far  in  the  hazy  distance 

It  wandered  on  alone. 
I  crept  back  to  my  pillow, 

But  all  my  sleep  was  flown. 

My  heart  was  aching  for  it 

As  there  it  moved  afar 
Across  the  midnight  heavens 

With  not  a  single  star. 

Alone  in  the  Dark 

The  waves  swish  on,  and  sweep, 

And  all  but  wash  the  mark, 
And  sob  themselves  to  sleep, 
All  alone  in  the  dark. 

The  dense  black  shadows  creep 

Across  the  waves.     I  hark 

And  hear  the  great  pines  weep 

All  alone  in  the  dark. 

But  you  and  I  are  here. 

You  would  not  leave  me?     Hark! 
My  heart  would. stop  with  fear 
All  alone  in  the  dark. 

Apprehension 

The  fog  is  thick,  and  darkness  steals 

Upon  me  here. 
I  strain  my  eyes,  but  cannot  see 

The  houses  near. 

The  murky  night  shuts  out  all  else, 

And  grows  apace, 
And  I  am  chill  and  sick  at  heart 

In  this  lone  place. 


16 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

And  as  I  try  in  vain  to  see, 

A  nameless  fear 
Makes  known  that  you  are  lost  to  me 

Though  now  so  dear. 

Ashes 

I  stole  into  the  room, 

The  hour  was  late, 
And  found  but  burned-out  ashes 

On  the  grate. 

I  crept  into  your  life, 

Near  spent  apart, 
And  found  but  burned-out  ashes 

In  your  heart. 


Assurance  of  Welcome 

When  that  last  dark  fight  bids  this  body  be  still, 
I  will  grasp  Death's  hand;  I  will  go  with  a  will. 
As  a  helpless  infant  I  entered  here, 
But  my  cry  found  hearts  that  held  me  dear; 
And  no  more  helpless  I'll  go,  than  then, 
Where  their  love  will  receive  me.    So,  Death,  choose 
when. 


At  Home  in  His  Worlds 

The  lights  of  home  were  kindly, 

Warm  their  glow. 

Though  the  far  corners  lay  in  shadows  there, 

The  not  far  corners  of  our  little  room, 

And  rooms  and  worlds  without 

Lay  deep  in  gloom. 

But  that  we  saw  not  in  the  lamp's  kind  glow, 

The  steady  light  of  home. 

We  sat  close-housed  together, 

Happy  in  our  love 

And  in  the  glow  of  home. 


Lake  Superior 


By  the  Lake 
Page  27 


JOHN     O'  DREAMS 17 

But  one  chill  night  we  sat  together  so, 

Thick  clouds  close  pressing, 

And  we  but  nearer,  since  of  fog  and  night, 

Happy  together  in  our  four-walled  home, 

And  then  the  lights  went  out, 

The  kindly  lamps  of  home, 

That  hands  had  tended  since  our  tender  years. 

The  lights  went  out. 

And  lone  left,  in  the  dark, 

The  vast  world's  dark, 

Our  soul  looked  up  and  saw  the  midnight  stars. 

And  after  years  of  ache  and  loneliness, 

Of  parched  throat  that  clutched  the  household  name 

And  hurled  it  out  in  agony  of  prayer, 

We  found  it  was  no  four-walled  room,  our  home. 

It  was  His  spaces  and  His  omnipresences: 

In  microscopic  systems  of  vast  worlds 

Infinitesimally  small;  in  pages 

Of  old  books,  and  books  not  written  down 

But  lived  by  living  men  in  busy  towns; 

In  them  of  lesser  sort  who  keep  the  law, 

His  beasts,  and  no  communion  have  with  us 

Who  will  and  do. 

And  there  too  in  his  presence 

Where  they're  gone, 

Who  kindled  once  long  since 

The  lights  of  home, 

They  kindle  still  those  lights  for  us. 

They  love  us  and  their  whispers  come 

From  His  great  silences 

And  fill  our  souls, 

And  let  us  know  how  we 

Are  souls  as  they  are  souls, 

And  in  our  endless  life 

Shall  grow,  through  loss  of  dear 

But  lesser  things, 

To  know,  from  Pisgahs  painful  climbed, 

Our  home  of  homes — His  omnipresences. 


18 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

At  Set  of  Sun 

As  once  you  stroked  my  thin  and  silver  hair 
So  I  stroke  yours,  now  at  the  set  of  sun. 
I  watch  your  tottering  mind,  its  day's  work  done, 
As  once  you  watched  with  forward-looking  care 
My  tottering  feet.    I  love  you  as  I  should. 
Stay  with  me.     Lean  on  me.     I'll  make  no  sign 
I  was  your  child,  and  now  time  makes  you  mine. 
Stay  with  me  yet  awhile  at  home,  and  do  me  good. 


The  Barren  Acre 

I  walked  in  a  barren  garden 

On  a   hectic  autumn  day. 
And  the  leaves  in  the  sad-eyed  silence 

Loosed  their  hold  to  drift  away. 

The  garden  was  utterly  empty, 

Though  'twas  watered  well  with  tears; 

Though  angels  folded  their  wings  of  stone 
And  watched  through  wastes  of  years. 

But  when  all  earth's  gardens  have  perished, 
And  the  sun  and  the  moon  are  not, 

Its  flowers  shall  bloom  forever, 
Not  one  poor  bud  forgot. 


Beatrice 

You  came  along  the  Arno  long  ago — 

We  peer  through  centuries  and  see  you  there, 
As  first  your  lover  saw  you,  tender,  fair, 

His  soul  amazed  before  your  young  youth's  glow. 

You  saw  no  face  heart-scarred  amid  the  throng, 
As  you,  a  joy,  made  mortal,  filled  his  view. 
You  passed  upon  your  life's  short  way,  nor  knew 

That  moment's  place  in  his  immortal  song. 

He  lived  an  exile,  gnawed  with  pride  and  wrong, 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 19 

•A  human  soul  that  quaffed  Hell's  poison  cup 
And  scornful  threw  them  back  the  dregs  to  sup. 
Of  all  the  earth,  his  hate  has  burned  most  strong, 
But  love  was  his — and  from  Inferno  rise 
The  dreams  of  Beatrice  and  Paradise. 


Beyond  the  Marge 

Beyond  the  marge  I  go 

Where  Earth  and  great  Sky  meet. 
I  go  the  trail  all  men  have  gone 

With  ne'er  returning  feet. 

Beyond  the  marge  I  go 

Into  the  land  of  peace, 
Where  seers  and  men  of  old  have  taught 

All  sins  and  sorrows  cease. 

But  if  'tis  I  that  go, 

This  soul  of  mine  I've  known, 
For  me  will  be  such  peace  and  calm 

As  I  have  made  mine  own. 

Beyond  the  marge  I  go — 

I  do  not  understand — 
The  trail  of  Earth,  the  trail  of  stars, 

Leads  on  to  God's  own  land! 


The  Birthdays 

I  read  your  birthdays  on  a  low  gray  stone : 

The  day  you  came  to  this  old  world  of  ours, 

When  nestlings  pipped  the  shell  and  buds  burst  flowers 

And  mother  eyes  upon  your  coming  shown; 

The  other  birthday,  when  the  clouds  dripped  rain 

That  brought  young  leaves  and  blossoms  into  life, 

They  said  you  died  (the  words  cut  like  a  knife). 

We  knew  you  lived  at  last,  and  angels  blessed  our  pain. 


20 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

Black  Wing's  Love 

Black  Wing  was  a  Huron, 
Bold  of  soul,  a  warrior 
Used  to  blood  and  pillage; 
Ne'er  escaped  his  foeman, 
But  gave  life  up  groaning 
Stung  by  Black  Wing's  anger. 

But  the  warrior  Black  Wing 
Loved  a  half-breed  maiden — 
White  the  maiden's  fancies, 
Dusky  red  her  yearning — 
And  her  cloud-white  fancies 
Drifted  not  toward  Black  Wing, 
Nor  her  dusk-red  yearning. 

White  her  misty  day-dreams — 
White  his  love  and  whiter; 
Dusk-red  her  perverseness — 
Still  more  red  his  longing. 
Fair  were  White  Fawn's  fancies, 
Matched  was  his  affection; 
And  the  strength  of  Black  Wing 
Matched  her  opposition. 
Still  came  no  betrothal. 

So  the  tide  was  setting 

When  it  chanced  that  Black  Wing 

Sped  a  biting  arrow 

From  his  sure-pulled  bow-cord, 

And  the  arrow  found  out 

Not  a  velvet  wood-deer 

But  a  man  in  buckskin ; 

And  his  blood  mad  rushing 

Through  the  open  doorway 

Left  him  doubly  Pale-face. 

Then  brave  Black  Wing  lifted 
This  one  on  his  shoulders, 
Bore  him  to  the  village, 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 21 

Bore  him  to  the  wigwam 

Of  the  potent  Heal  Wound. 

Here  they  prayed  the  mighty 

Manitou  to  heal  him, 

And  there  healing  found  him. 

'Twas  no  incantation 

Nor  medicine  man  that  wrought  it; 

'Twas  the  cloud-white  fancies, 

'Twas  the  dusk-red  yearning 

Of  the  lovely  White  Fawn 

Brought  the  Pale-face  healing. 

Woe  betide  bold  Black  Wing! 

Woe  betide  strange  Pale-face ! 

Woe  betide  sweet  White  Fawn ! 

Black  Wing's  knife  is  sharpened, 

And  his  anger  sharper. 

But  the  eyes  of  White  Fawn, 

Innocent  and  startled, 

Search  the  soul  of  Black  Wing 

And  no  knife  is  sharper. 

Shame  in  face  and  heart-shamed 

Rushes  forth  the  warrior 

To  the  black-souled  river, 

Flings — a  swirl — his  black  thoughts 

Perish  there  forever. 

Now,  the  neighboring  Iroquois 

Bloody  were  and  vengeful. 

Once  happed  Black  Wing  'mong  them 

When  a  luckless  Pale-face 

Bound  with  thongs  awaited 

All  their  rage  and  vengeance. 

Soon  the  flames  would  kiss  him, 

Never  more  would — White  Fawn ! 

Then  leaped  forth  the  warrior 

In  the  soul  of  Black  Wing. 

This  not  tortured  Pale-face, 
'Twas  the  soul  of  White  Fawn, 
E'er  bowed  down  and  speechless 


22 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

Would  by  flames  be  tortured 
Till  her  death-song  floated 
Upward  like  the  smoke  wraith. 
And  the  soul  of  White  Fawn 
Was  it  not  close  knitted 
To  the  soul  of  Black  Wing? 

"Let  him  go!"  cried  Black  Wing 
Leaping  in  among  them, 

"Loose  his  thongs  and  bind  me, 
Me  a  chief  of  Huron." 

'Mong  themselves  they  whispered : 
"He  hath  done  a  kindness 
To  the  mighty  Huron. 
He  will  pay  with  life-blood." 

"Yea,  we  will  unbind  him." 

As  the  blood  was  trickling 
From  his  thong-bound  ankles 
Black  Wing  touched  the  Pale-face : 
"Go,  I  beg  thee,  go  thee 
To  the  Huron  village, 
Go  and  comfort  White  Fawn." 

The  canoe  was  loosened — 
Once  it  sped  for  Black  Wing, 
Now  it  sped  for  Pale-face — 
Lapped  the  waves  about  it, 
Lured  it  to  the  Hurons; 
But  his  heart  misgave  him, 
For  the  frighted  air  brought 
Sound  of  hemlock  crackling, 
Sound  of  death-song  chanted. 

Fast  he  sped  to  White  Fawn, 
She  had  need  of  comfort ! 
Ah,  this  love  was  redder 
Than  the  flames  of  hemlock! 
Ah,  this  love  was  whiter 
Than  the  blanching  ashes! 


JOHN    O'  DREAMS 23 

The  Blind 

I  met  my  loved  one  in  that  unknown  land 
Where  foot  of  flesh  goes  not,  nor  heart  of  flesh, 
But  love  can  find  a  way.     I'd  often  gone 
To  search  and  search  in  that  forbidden  place 
Nights  when  my  body  slept.     For  there  my  soul 
Turned  always,  sun  or  dark,  to  search  for  her. 
And  there  one  time  I  found  her  as  she'd  been, 
Her  kind  glad  face.     And  as  she  did  not  know 
How  my  bold  heart  for  hungering  love  of  her 
Forbidden  bounds  had  crossed,  I  did  not  say, 
But  smiled  on  her,  so  well,  who  had  been  sick  and  old, 
And  all  my  soul  was  glad.     And  we  stood  close 
And  filled  our  hearts,  death  emptied,  full  of  bliss, 
That  we  were  close  and  saw  each  other's  smiles. 

But  one  thin  woman,  gaunt  with  selfishness, 
Looked  slant-eyed  on  our  love,  and  wished  to  hurt. 
"Darling,  all's  well?"  I  said,  "I  knew  it  so; 
God  does  all  well;  I  knew  you  young  and  whole." 
She  smiled  me,  yes.     Then  that  malignant  soul 
Bared  skinny  lips  and  sneered,  "She  yet  is  blind!" 

I  trembled,  "Blind !  I  thought  death  made  you  whole!" 

Gently  her  voice  came,    "So  it  does,  in  time. 

My  eyes  will  soon  be  well.     I  am  not  blind 

Though,  in  a  better  way.     Over  here 

We  have  small  need  of  seeing  with  earth's  eyes. 

We  see  not  objects  merely,  but  the  hearts  of  things. 

You  in  your  world  are  blind.     You  see 

The  body  only,  you  cannot  see  the  thoughts, 

And  mind  and  heart,  or  better  might  I  say 

Dimly  as  the  body  tries  to  show  them  forth. 

But  here  we  see,  real  seeing.     You  are  blind. 

I  see  this  woman,  poor  and  shrunk  away, 

Who  would  do  evil,  if  your  heart  was  small 

To  take  it  in  and  let  the  evil  grow. 

But  your  faith,  whole,  healthy,  throws  it  off 

And  leans  on,  God  is  love  and  love  is  good. 


24 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

I  see  her  and  I  pity  and  I  love. 

Her  poor  shrunk  spirit,  would  that  it  were  whole! 

The  sick  have  need  of  us.     There's  work 

As  well  as  praise  and  peace." 

"And  can  you  see  me,  too,  my  faults  as  plain  as  hers, 
And  love  me?" 

"Yes." 

"And  love  me  spite  of  all?" 
"Yes,  more  because  of  all." 

"Then  this  is  Heaven.     It  would  not  do  to  see 
So  on  our  earth,  to  know  what  each  man  thought, 
His  inmost  plans.     Men  are  not  good  enough. 
Not  mothers  even,  none  are  good  enough. 
'Twould  take  an  angel  so  to  see  and  so  to  love." 

"Mayhap  it  would.     Your  human  earth  is  blind. 
But  here  we  learn  of  Wisdom  and  of  Love." 

The  Body  to  the  Soul 

My  soul  came  to  the  windows 
And  glanced  forth  and  seeing  me 
Did  not  draw  back  again 
But  stood  and  looked  on  me 
In  the  clear  light  of  day. 

Then  summoned  she  her  messengers 

And  through  the  parted  portals 

Sent  them  forth. 

Their  tread  was  light  as  breath ; 

Their  voice  deep  searching 

As  undisturbed  and  deathly  silence; 

Their  message  was  a  two-edged  sword  of  flame. 

O,  soul,  you  need  not  so  look  on  me, 

Such  word  send. 

This  fleshy  part  shall  die, 

But  you  shall  live. 

And  I  shall  willing  die 

That  you  may  live. 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 25 

My  soul,  I  know  that  such  as  I 

Can  house  not  long  with  you. 

Twixt  you  and  me  is  naught  in  common: 

You  came  fron  God 

And  you  return; 

And  I,  who  hold  you  here  to  do  my  beck, 

I  am  but  fashioned  earth, 

My  heart  is  clay. 

Boulders 

The  boulder  rocks 

Stand  gray  and  old  and  strong. 

They  look  at  the  meadows 

Stretched  out  at  their  feet 

And  do  not  understand. 

Never  the  meadow's  life  was  theirs 

With  lowing  cattle  and  tree-shielded  homes, 

Amid  the  grind  of  every  day, 

Made  beautiful  with  flowers  and  peace; 

Never  the  lark  sprang  up 

From  nest  that  hid  her  store  of  wealth ; 

Or  bare-footed  children  played 

Over  the  deep  black  loam, 

Chancing  on  treasures  rare, 

Gathered  and  straight  forgot. 

The  boulders  know  not  home  nor  tenderness. 

Ever  the  storms  beat  on  them, 

And  in  centuries  they  grow 

Less  sharp,  less  steep,  but  not  less  strong. 

Still,  here  and  there  on  their  bosoms 

They  bear  one  little  touch  of  sunshine  and  of  sky, 

One  little  flower  they  tenderly  fold  up, 

And  shield,  and  give  their  stony  best  to. 

And  sometimes  the  opal  dawns 

And  twilight  amethysts  fall  on  them 

Like  a  benediction,  like  a  peace. 

For  Nature  knows  the  strength  that  lies  in  them, 

And  knows  the  wear  of  centuries  would  make  a  soil 

From  which  would  come  a  blossom  if  it  could. 


26 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

O,  God,  since  thou  hast  made 

A  stony  cliff  of  me, 

A  boulder  rising  in  the  lightning's  path, 

Send  me  the  wear  and  tear  of  life, 

The  hardships  and  the  work  that  make  a  soil, 

That  I  may  have  my  flower  dream, 

My  fragile  bloom. 

I  am  not  lava,  cooled  from  some  volcanic  fire, 

But  only  part  of  that  bed-rock 

Common  to  all  Thy  great  humanity. 


Brothers 

I  looked  on  sin,  and  felt  a  great  disgust 

Toward  sinful  men,  they  and  their  guilt  confused. 

Heredity,  environment,  excused 

No  whit  the  erring  sinner  from  God's  must. 

But  one  I  loved,  detected,  self-confessed, 

Stood  foul  with  sin  as  they,  sin  to  my  hurt. 

"Pure  is  the  soul  of  man  despite  sin's  dirt!" 

I  groaned,  "This  one  I  love."    And  so  forgave  the  rest. 


The  Butterfly 

Only  a  little  butterfly, 

With  dusty,  mottled  wing, 
Flitting  about  in  the  joyous  trees; 

And  the  sun  on  everything. 

Only  a  little  butterfly, 

With  lifeless,  tattered  wing, 

Lying  all  crushed  in  the  burning  sands; 
And  the  sun  on  everything. 


By  the  Huron 

I  stood  upon  the  hilltop 
And  caught  far  down  below 

A  glint  among  the  willows: 
It  was  the  river's  flow. 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 27 

The  terraced  slopes  beyond  it 
Slept.     Hazy  blue  and  gray 

The  hot  sky  o'er  it  nodded. 
I'd  been  a  weary  way. 

A  weather-beaten  hay-barn 

From  an  orchard  peeped  in  view; 

A  plough  and  horses  rested ; 
Man,  I've  a  home  like  you! 

By  the  Lake 

Gray  and  sullen  the  sea, 

Sullen  and  gray  the  sky. 
And  a  sadness  comes  o'er  me 

As  the  panting  waves  lash  high. 

A  sadness  that  things  are  so 
Which  is  not  of  the  sea  or  sky. 

Though  the  breakers  seem  to  know 
As  they  strive  and  fail  and  die. 

Sullen  above,  below, 

And  the  foiled  waves'  endless  roar, 
As  they  rise  for  a  space,  and  go 

Like  the  mist  on  the  far-off  shore. 

The  Call  of  Northland  Waters 

The  waters  call  me  always  in  the  Northland : 
They  call  me  as  they  hurry  down  the  steep ; 

They  beckon  as  they  haste  among  their  boulders; 
They  watch  from  quiet  pools  with  eyes  that  weep. 

Their  cadence?     'Tis  the  luring  of  the  Northland; 

'Tis  the  witch  spell  of  the  cold  inland  sea; 
'Tis  why  my  heart  leaps  at  wind  and  pine  tree — 

'Tis  the  struggling  'gainst  the  shackles  to  be  free. 

I  have  listened  well,  you  waters  in  the  Northland, 
I  have  learned  what  the  cities  never  see, 

That  the  shackles  that  the  gods  would  put  upon  us 
Bind  us  close  to  Nature's  heart  and  make  us  free. 


28  JOHN   O'  DREAMS 


Calm 

The  lake  is  tired  out, 

It  sinks  to  rest, 
A  placid,  mist-hung  calm 

Upon  its  breast. 

Too  wearied  far  to  care, 
Past  storm-lashed  strife. 

Fast  spent  the  heaving  pulse, 
Fast  spent  the  life. 

It  lies  all  calm  and  waits 

And  makes  no  cry, 
Gray  with  the  gray  of  death 

Beneath  the  sky. 


The  Challenge 

Cold  winds  blow!     Gray  clouds  lower! 
You've  met  me  in  a  timely  hour; 
For  I  am  full  of  fret  and  fight; 
My  feet  would  wander  far  tonight, 
Would  go,  and  go,  and  know  no  rest; 
So  lead  me  where  it  seemeth  best. 
"Beyond  man's  ken?"     I  take  the  dare, 
With  mood  defiant  meet  you  there. 
Why  should  I  pale  or  turn  a  hair, 
Or  why  should  I  white-livered  stare? 
I've  naught  to  gain,  and  naught  to  lose, 
So  what  care  I  what  Fate  may  choose? 
Once,  though,  I  felt  a  sickening  dread — 
That  once  was  when  they  were  not  dead. 

Christmas 

Little  Babe,  on  Holy  Night, 
What  makes  thy  mother's  halo  bright, 
Is  not  what  extolling  angels  see, 
'Tis  human  mother  love  for  thee. 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 29 

Little  Babe,  on  Holy  Night, 
No  wonder  star  leads  us  aright; 
What  makes  us  bend  adoring  knee, 
Is  thou  art  human  like  as  we. 


Confession 

Confession  is  good  for  the  soul. 

And  she  had  done  her  confessing. 
She  erred,  and  she  gave  out  the  whole, 

And  her  shrived  soul  went  with  its  blessing. 

But  a  hot  coal  burned  on  my  lips, 
It  shrivelled  to  out,  and  was  searing. 

'Twas  a  coal  from  the  burning  pits, 
But  I  held  it  from  all  men's  hearing. 

'Twas  a  thing  must  be  left  unsaid ; 

It  would  cover  me  black  with  pollution, 
It  would  strike  my  fair  name  dead. 

It  was  all  sins  held  in  solution. 

I  had  trodden  my  soul  in  the  dust, 
And  all  I  had  hopes  of  possessing. 

Confession  is  good  for  the  soul ; 

But  for  me  there  can  be  no  confessing. 


A  Country  Cemetery 

Over  the  hills  where  the  heedless  wind  bloweth, 
Over  the  hills  where  the  dull  cattle  loweth, 
Over  the  hills  where  the  rumbling  cart  goeth, 
Over  the  hills  there  is  rest. 

Where    meadows    and    copper-stained    heavens   are 

blending, 

There  where  the  dried  summer  grasses  are  bending, 
There  where  the  silence  and  tryst  are  unending, 
Over  the  hills  there  is  rest. 


30 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

Unpained  by  the  boor-clod  that  holds  them  in  keep 
ing, 

Untouched  by  the  shadow  of  hawk-wing  a-sweeping, 
Life's  nightmare  forgotten,  they  calmly  are  sleeping 
Over  the  hills  there  at  rest. 


Covered 

I've  taught  my  lips 

And  they  have  not  forgot, 
They  tell  their  lie  and  smile, 

But  it — they  tell  it  not. 

"Tis  false,  'tis  false, 

Tis  basely  false,  untrue!" 

They'd  swear  in  Heaven's  ears 
Till  Heaven  believe  in  you. 


Cradle  Song 

Sleep,  little  babe, 
To  thy  mother's  breast  folded, 
Thy  drowsy-weighed  eyelids 
Like  rose  petals  molded. 

Sleep,  sleep,  little  babe. 

Sleep,  little  babe, 
And  thy  smile  is  befitting 
For  the  pure  in  heart  know 
When  an  angel  is  flitting. 

Sleep,  sleep,  little  babe. 

Sleep,  little  babe, 
For  One  hath  us  in  keeping, 
And  another  babe  once 
With  his  mother  lay  sleeping. 

Sleep,  sleep,  little  babe. 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS  31 


The  Crown 

The  first  snow  fell  on  the  hills, 

And  the  hills  grew  frighted  gray. 
For  they  had  been  used  to  the  touch  of  flowers 

And  the  golden  summer  day. 

But  the  snow  fell  day  by  day, 

Fell  steadily,  coldly  down, 
Till  the  hills  uplifted  their  foreheads  strong, 

And  lo,  they  wore  a  crown. 


The  Day  is  Done 

The  day  is  done,  and  things  grow  large  in  shadows, 
And  gusts  of  wind  sweep  o'er  the  window-pane. 

The  cold  creeps  in.     The  logs  lie  in  the  ashes, 

And  neighboring  trees  stand  black  and  drenched 
with  rain. 

The  day  is  done.     I  wait  awhile  in  thinking, 

And  gusts  of  pain  sweep  o'er  my  shrinking  heart. 

The  cold  creeps  in.     My  hopes  lie  in  the  ashes. 
The  day  is  done  that  seemed  so  well  at  start. 


Denied 

(On  hearing  Schubert's  Serenade) 

I  am  given  strength  of  spirit, 
And  talents  past  my  due, 

And  all  men's  approbation — 
My  heart  wants  home  and  you. 

And  must  I  die  a-hungered 
For  what  I  never  knew, 

And  last  be  given  Heaven, 
Who  wanted  home  and  you ! 


32 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

Deserted 

I  know  that  it  was  weak  to  ask  for  comfort. 

For  years  my  heart  was  stout,  and  should  have  borne 

One  further  thrust,  one  malice  guided  arrow, 

But  that  I  sudden  felt  me  overthrown. 

And  what  was  years  of  training  in  that  instant? 

My  heart  was  pierced  and  cried  from  utter  pain; 

Too  sorely  pressed,  'twas  not  myself  that  begged  you 

To  come  and  help  me,  let  your  strength  sustain. 

Why  did  I  turn  to  you?     I  bow  confession — 

It  was  because  I  thought  that  you  alone 

Would  in  your  mantle  muffle  up  my  weakness, 

And  feel  the  sting  I  bore  as  'twas  your  own. 

Though  dumb  and  crushed  I've  since  hid  in  the  throng, 

That  day  I  fought  alone  and  proved  me  strong. 


The  Difference 

Slow  as  a  snail  the  hands  crawl  'round 

Upon  the  dial  plate. 
I  fear  if  they  toil  on  so  slow 

Your  coming  will  be  late. 

But  when  you've  come,  and  there's  untold 

The  most  we  had  to  say, 
Those  same  small  hands,  on  wagers  bent, 

March  madly  on  their  way. 

Such  conduct  is  unkind  in  them. 

What  think  you'll  make  them  go 
As  swift  as  birds  when  we're  apart, 

And  other  times  move  slow? 


The  Divine  Right  of  Kings 

"The  King  can  do  no  wrong." 

I  read  it  and  acquiesce, 
While  every  drop  of  my  Puritan  blood 

Pulses  a  bounding,  Yes. 


'The  waters  call  me  always  in  the  Northland" 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 33 

We  killed  King  Charles,  and  George  the  Third 

Felt  our  bullets  smart. 
And  the  King  can  do  no  wrong? 

But  he  is  the  king  of  my  heart! 

A  Dream 

I  kissed  you  in  a  dream — 
Was  it  dreaming?     Was  it  true? 

For  my  heart  was  mad 

With  joyance  glad, 
My  heart  that  starved  for  you. 

My  soul  forgot  the  worlds 
Of  Real  and  of  Seem. 

But  my  poor  heart  broke 

When  morning  woke — 
I  had  kissed  you  in  a  dream. 

Easter  Lilies 

Prayers  of  Earth's  bruised, 

The  lilies  arise. 
Hope  in  their  garments, 

And  holiness  lies; 
Their  fragrance,  blest  healing 

From  out  of  his  skies. 

An  Easter  Thought  of  Heaven 

Heaven  seems  to  me  a  gentle,  homelike  place 
Where  those  I  love  sit  often  side  by  side 

And  speak  of  me,  a  smile  upon  their  face, 

Their  heart  with  me  as  though  they  had  not  died 

Elfred 

Elf  red  was  young;  his  heart  beat  high, 

He  sought  renown  and  true  knight's  glory. 

She  was  a  witch,  as  young  in  face 
As  old  in  evil,  old  and  hoary. 


34 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

I  loved  him  well.     I  loved  him  more 
Than  fame  or  life,  nor  questioned  whether 

He  loved  as  much.     It  were  enough 
That  we  were  oftentimes  together. 

She'd  pledged  another  one  her  faith. 

She  met  Elfred ;  and  in  her  kindled 
A  love  for  him,  a  hate  for  me 

That  grew  as  plighted  troth-love  dwindled. 

She  cast  her  evil  eyes  on  him 

And  charmed  him  like  a  helpless  sparrow; 
And  won  his  heart,  and  broke  my  own; 

And  fawned  upon  me  on  the  morrow. 

I  met  her  on  the  blasted  heath. 

I  strangled  her  who  stole  my  lover. 
The  hoot-owl  shrieked  her  passing  soul. 

The  earth  was  deep  I  piled  above  her. 


The  Emancipated  Woman 

Wait,  my  baby,  wait, 

We're  human  in  spite  of  fate. 
Never  the  breath  of  your  moistened  lips, 
Never  the  press  of  your  finger-tips! 
Never  to  touch  you,  and  never  to  know 
The  thrill  of  your  laugh  and  the  joy  of  your  crow! 

We're  human  we  know  too  late, 

Wait,  my  baby,  wait. 

Wait,  my  baby,  wait, 

We're  human  in  spite  of  fate. 
My  arms  are  aching  to  hold  you  fast 
To  a  heart  you  could  heal  though  the  whole  world 

passed. 

You  would  be  the  world  and  heaven  to  me, 
For  I'm  only  a  woman  whatever  I  be. 

May  God  not  say,  "Too  late!" 

Wait,  my  baby,  wait. 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 35 

The  Ensemble 

A  leafy  path  on  the  hillslope 

Flecked  with  shadow  and  sun ; 

A  stripe-backed  chipmunk  watching 

Nervously  ready  to  run; 

Banks  of  ferns  uncurling 

In  curves  of  rarest  grace; 

Gnarled  old  trees  grown  young  again 

In  fairy  green  and  lace; 

Solomon's  seal  and  bellwort, 

Spring  beauty,  anemone, 

Jack-in-the-pulpit  and  star-flower 

And  all  spring's  pageantry; 

And  the  glad  young  bound 

In  the  world  around 

Gone  to  the  heart  of  me. 

Evening  Song 

Over  the  hill-tops 

Falls  peace; 
Stars  o'er  the  tree-tops 

Increase; 
The  sheep  are  returning 

To  rest  in  the  hold ; 

Thy  Shepherd  doth  fold, 
My  heart,  cease  thy  yearning. 

The  Evidence  of  Things  Not  Seen 

From  out  the  black,  abysmal  night 

A  peace,  an  understanding  and  a  light 

Came  to  me  at  the  dawn. 

I  knew  you  gone, 

But  waked,  I  knew — I  knew  not  what  I  knew — 

I  knew  the  peace,  the  mind,  the  light,  were  you; 

Beyond  the  reach  of  death  you  lived  once  more 

As  here  with  us  you  lived  in  days  of  yore ; 

You  were  not  dead,  and  your  great  love  for  me 

Had  grown  to  match  your  immortality. 


36 JOHN  O'  DREAMS 

Faith 

I  have  a  faith,  sure  as  a  rock-ribbed  coast: 
Where  all  looks  evil,  there  it  trusts  him  most; 
It  would  not  spy  his  mysteries  if  it  could; 
It  knows,  whate'er  betide,  the  Lord  is  good. 

My  heart  stood  faint  when  once  it  looked  on  death. 
No  word  returned  from  out  that  awful  black; 
"We  die,  and  shall  we  live?"  came  echoed  back 
Since  first  man  yielded  up  his  mortal  breath. 

But  God  came  to  my  life.     He  laid  his  hand 
Most  heavily  on  me.     Scarce  could  I  understand. 
He  took  my  best;  in  place  he  gave  to  me 
His  gift  of  gifts:  to  know  his  immortality. 


Fate 

The  continent  forever  stands  rock-ribbed  in  view. 
And  yet  my  heart  must  falter  at  the  ache 
When  to  such  joy  thy  voice  might  bid  it  wake 
As  all  the  birds  are  singing  in  the  blue. 
My  trembling  soul's  a-shiver  but  to  think 
Of  joyance  such  as  that.     It  could  not  be, 

'Twould  be  too  blest  for  this  old  earth  and  me; 
It  lives  in  some  rich  East  beyond  life's  brink. 
The  Cabots  sought  it  once,  and  ploughed  the  main, 
And  futile  searched  the  stern  Atlantic  strand 
For  path  to  where  the  gold  Pacific  lay. 
And  so  I  search  life's  rock-bound  coast  in  vain, 
And  grope  to  find  the  way,  nor  understand 
God  made  it  so  for  me — there  is  no  way ! 

Father 

My  father's  heart,  big  as  the  human  race, 
Had  room  for  men ;  his  kindly  eyes  laid  bare 
Their  proud  distinctions,  empty  as  the  air, 
And  judged  long-suffering  and  full  of  grace 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 37 

Who  saw  God's  fatherhood  in  every  face; 

His  saving  sense  of  humor  understood 

How  good  the  bad,  and  too,  how  bad  the  good; 

For  his  was  that  rare  nature  greatly  commonplace. 

Father  and  Mother 

I  could  not  think  that  they  could  die ; 

It  seemed  past  all  belief. 
Yet  when  the  one  went  forth  alone 

I  scarcely  sensed  my  grief, 
But  waited  for  the  blow  to  fall — 

Iknew  it,  every  breath, 
If  one  should  go,  so  must  they  both, 

And  be  at  one  in  death. 


Fellowship 

A  line  of  pines  on  the  harbor  bar, 

Of  lone,  jagged  pines  on  a  jagged  bar 

Where  the  Lake  rushed  through 

In  November  storms. 

It  is  not  the  heavy  mass  of  pines 

Standing  close  together  to  meet  the  Lake 

On  a  hillside  firm,  that  my  eyes  rest  on; 

No!     My  heart,  alone  in  a  fate-stormed  world, 

Turns  with  an  ache  and  a  fellowship 

To  the  lone,  jagged  line  on  the  jagged  bar. 


First  Love 

The  golden  light  is  kissing 
The  brook  in  glad  surprise; 

There  is  a  light  more  tender 
Which  leaps  into  your  eyes. 

A  bird-song  from  the  tree-tops 
Makes  all  the  air  rejoice; 

But  there  is  something  sweeter 
Which  trembles  in  your  voice. 


38 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

The  First  Snow 

The  little  clover  leaves  are  dead, 
That  had  so  kindly  grown; 

And  whirls  of  early  winter  snow 
Are  eddied  round  her  stone. 

I  cannot  bear  that  that  one  place 
Should  know  your  long  white  hours, 

O,  frozen  cold ;  for  in  my  heart 

It  knows  but  warmth  and  showers. 


A  Flirtation 

She  showed  a  row  of  pretty  teeth 
And  roguish  eyes  of  blue; 

She'd  caught  me  smiling  full  at  her. 
A  silly  thing  to  do ! 

She  gave  her  head  a  pretty  toss 
And  looked  in  scorn  at  me. 

But  I  was  glad.     Her  dimples 
I  do  not  often  see. 

I  said,  "I  like  your  ears  to  flush, 
That  makes  you  pretty,  lass." 

But  she?     She  only  laughed  at  me, 
My  reflection  in  the  glass. 


The  Flower  Girl 

Roses !     Roses ! 
See  my  pretty  roses! 
Sweet  they  are,  fresh  they  are, 
Loveliest  of  posies. 

Roses !     Roses ! 
Lady,  buy  my  roses? 
The  sun  has  set,  few  feet  pass  yet, 
And  the  long  day  closes. 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 39 

Roses !     Roses ! 
"What's  the  price  of  roses?" 
No  food  I've  seen  since  yester  e'en. 
That's  the  price  of  roses. 


Fogs 

Some  days  the  black  fogs  hang 
Heavy  as  hangs  a  pall, 
That  covers,  and  covers  not, 
For  our  dread  sees  the  stare  and  all- 
Heavy  and  black  and  thick, 
It  makes  our  hearts  grow  sick! 

Horrible,  black  the  fog. 

If  it  were  only  sleet 

And  wind  and  lightning  stroke 

To  combat  with  hands  and  feet! 

God  spare  us  from  fogs  that  crawl 

And  smother  us  with  a  pall. 


The  Footfall 

It  is  not  the  foot  that  is  passing, 
It's  the  thousands  of  feet  to  pass. 

And  my  eyes  to  meet  those  staring  eyes 
Of  the  ashy  face  in  the  glass. 

And  never  in  all  the  thousands 

To  hear  one  foot  pass  by. 
And  yet  to  live  and  to  listen, 

And  listen — and  never  die ! 


Found 

I  dreamed  of  a  flower,  modest,  fair, 

Of  gentle  grace. 
And  since  that  hour  I've  sought  it  out 

In  every  place; 


40 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

In  field,  in  bower,  in  mead  and  down; 

There  was  no  trace. 
I've  found  my  flower,  at  last,  so  fair. 

It  is  thy  face. 

A  Friend 

Beyond  the  sun,  into  the  twilight  land 
Let  me  go  with  you,  friend, 
I  understand. 

Your  dreams  are  yours.    A  tear  that  dreams  they  be. 
I  would  that  love  not  I 
Kept  step  with  thee. 

But  since  not  love  but  I,  then  take  my  hand 
As  you  have  all  my  heart. 
I  understand. 


From  Whence  Cometh  Our  Help 

Let  me  drink  the  silence  of  the  woods  into  my  heart; 
The  carolling  of  birds,  the  young  stream's  babble. 
And  I  will  take  me  back  into  the  town,  and  do  my 
part. 

Let  me  lean  down  my  head,  where  clovers  lean 
To  look  upon  the  earth  where  we  shall  rest  us. 
And  I  shall  come  away  to  live  my  life  sweet  breathed 
and  clean. 

Let  me  wait  out-of-doors  till  night  and  rain, 
When  old  trees  bow,  and  young  limbs  are  a-tremble. 
And  I'll  go  back  in  the  thoroughfares  and  know  men's 
pain. 

Great,  simple  Nature,  steal  into  my  heart,  nor  leave 

there  space 

For  shouts  and  boasts  and  jostlings  of  the  market. 
An  hour  aside,  alone  with  thee  in  silence,  and  these 

give  place. 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS  41 


Gaunt  Gray  Wolf 

Old  gaunt  gray  wolf,  hie  you  away, 
I  am  not  afraid  of  you  when  it  is  day. 
When  it  is  night-time  and  bull-frogs  croak 
And  screech-owls  hoot  from  out  an  oak, 
Then  I  am  afraid  of  you,  gaunt  and  gray. 

Old  gaunt  gray  wolf,  nights  if  I  hark 
I  can  hear  your  stealthy  creep  in  the  dark, 
Up  from  the  cat-hole  where  dead  punk  glows, 
Each  step  you  take  the  darkness  grows, 
Big  folks,  afraid  of  you,  then  grow  stark. 

Old  gaunt  gray  wolf,  hie  you  away, 
I  am  not  afraid  of  you,  now  it  is  day. 
This  is  my  playtime,  the  lambkin  leaps, 
The  bull-frog  blinks,  the  screech-owl  sleeps, 
You  are  nothing  but  a  spook,  gaunt  and  gray. 


The  Gleam 

I  sit  and  think  of  you,  darling, 

As  the  twilight  falls  apace 
And  the  last  bright  gleam  of  the  setting  sun 

Is  joyous  like  your  face. 


The  God  of  All  the  Earth 

God  is  the  God  of  all  the  earth ! 

And  the  brown  child  He  calls,  "Mine,1 
As  he  rubs  the  nose  of  an  idol, 
An  idol  as  homely  as  sin, 
And  wears  an  amulet  for  a  charm 
Next  his  little  heathen  skin; 

For  He  is  a  God  whose  geography 

Has  a  rather  large  boundary  line. 


42 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

He  is  the  God  of  all  the  earth ! 
And  the  yellow  child  looks  good 

As  he  takes  a  lot  of  eatable  things 

To  his  folks  who  cannot  eat, 

Since  they've  been  dead  some  decades, 

And  it's  rubbish  at  their  feet; 
But  the  heart  of  the  yellow  child's  all  right, 
And  so  God  understood. 

And  the  black  man's  as  good  as  the  white  man 
To  the  God  who  respecteth  not. 

He  doesn't  go  in  for  complexion — 

Maybe  He's  color-blind — 

Anyway  things  that  some  folks  loathe 

The  good  Lord  doesn't  mind, 
Though  we  often  think  we  know  who's  who 
And  could  tell  Him  what  is  what. 

He  is  the  God  of  all  the  earth ! 
And  how  can  a  nation  pray 

That  God  help  him  kill  his  neighbor, 

And  get  him  out  of  his  way, 

A  civilized  white  neighbor, 

Who  knows  the  Sabbath  day, 
And  not  a  brown  or  yellow  man, 
But  his  own  kind  of  clay. 

I'm  afraid  we  are  stumbling  in  the  dark, 

So  we'd  better  open  our  eyes. 

When  we  thought  our  God  was  a  Christian  God 

We  hadn't  gotten  His  size. 

'Twas  bad  as  the  Chosen  People 

Who  kept  Him  in  Palestine, 

And  His  bigness  just  spilled  over. 

No,  He  knows  no  boundary  line, 

No  line  of  creed,  or  color, 

Or  form  of  law,  or  race. 

For  He  is  the  God  of  all  the  earth, 

And  the  stars  are  too  his  place! 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 


Golden  Light 

Golden  light,  only  light! 
Nowhere  on  sea  or  sky, 
Nowhere  on  earth,  on  high 

Find  I  thee, 

Golden  light. 

Golden  light,  only  light! 
Fairer  than  even  star, 
Fairer  than  moonlit  bar, 
Fairer  than  dawnings  are, 
Golden  light. 

Golden  light,  only  light! 
Deep  in  my  loved  one's  eyes 
Shimm'ring  the  wonder  lies; 

Find  I  thee, 

Golden  light. 


Good  Death 

I  have  not  died,  but  Death  I've  known, 

Clasped  his  hand, 

Thanked  him  glad  for  mercy  shown, 
Begged  for  him  to  come.     Alone 
He  could  help  in  all  the  land. 

Good  was  death  to  mine. 

Leave  the  world,  though  far  you  fare, 

Do  not  fear! 

Whether  here  or  whether  there 
We  are  always  in  God's  care. 
What  we  shall  be  shall  appear. 

Good  is  death  to  us. 

I  will  hold  your  hand  this  side. 

Those  that  wait 

Know  to  help,  for  they  have  died, 
Dread  not  what  great  death  may  hide. 
Good  has  been  this  earthly  state, 

Good  be  death  to  us. 


44 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

'Twill  be  going  home  for  me. 

So  long  while 
Here  in  all  humanity 
Face  of  mine  I  never  see 
When  I  hear  them  I  shall  smile, 

Good  is  death  to  me ! 

The  Greatest  King 

Three  wise  men  rode  high  on  camels  long  ago, 
And  a  wonder  star  revealed  the  road  to  keep. 

They  sought  the  greatest  King  the  world  shall  know ; 
And  they  found — a  darling  baby  fast  asleep. 

The  Gypsy 

It  sprang  without  the  palings 

And  shut-in  garden  blows, 
It  clambered  where  it  wished  to, 

A  spray  of  yellow  rose. 

She  sprang  without  the  palings. 

With  eyes  as  black  as  night 
And  small  hands  weaving  wanton 

She  danced,  nor  knew  the  blight. 

She  spied  the  yellow  roses 
And  picked  them  every  one. 

They  rested  o'er  her  little  heart. 
Both  had  a  touch  of  sun. 

The  Handclasp 

The  little  pink  feet 

Are  curling  and  sweet 

Snug  in  the  clasp  of  mother's  hand. 

Sullied  some  day 

And  bleeding,  must  they 

Walk  the  broad  main  road  of  grown-up  land? 

The  strong  must  be  so! 

So  baby  may  crow 

And  leap  at  a  clasp  he  can  not  understand. 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS  45 


Heartache 

My  love  is  a  heartache; 

A  rose,  dust  immersed, 
The  sun  on  its  petals, 

Dead  fainting  with  thirst. 

Thirst  shrivels  the  rose-heart, 

It  withers,  it  dies. 
A  thirst  dries  my  heart  up. 

O,  smile  with  your  eyes. 


Heart's  Desire 

All  the  world  had  entered  into  life 

In  that  spring  season.     Song  of  bird  was  rife 

Mating  and  nesting.     Buds  were  oping  wide 

To  see  the  springtime  fairness  on  each  side 

With  gladly  shining  eyes,  not  knowing  their  own  share 

In  all  the  myriad  beauty  everywhere. 

The  old  earth  laughed,  for  hope  had  come  at  dawn 

Of  things  new  born  from  all  the  waste  and  gone ; 

And  human  hearts  felt  so  the  stir  of  things 

They  knew  it  for  the  whirring  of  those  wings 

That  watch  o'er  us  to  bring  us  heart's  desire, 

The  Shall  Be,  yet  too  good,  to  which  we  aspire. 

The  spring  and  dawn  fade  out  as  fades  our  youth, 
But  in  mid-season  heat  we  learn  the  truth, 
Ploughed  lands  shall  yield  if  deep  the  coulter  passed 
'Spite  suns  and  drouth.     His  angels  watch  at  last. 
Though  Death  went  out  that  glad  spring  morn 
And  smote  the  dewy  babe  but  newly  born, 
But  left  the  aged  crones,  too  old  for  tears, 
Who  helpless  sat  by  door-steps,  bowed  with  years; 
Though  Death  went  by,  and  laborers  laid  down 
Their  busy  tools  in  field  and  mine  and  town; 
Though  last  year's  harvest  rotted  in  the  field ; 
The  last  year's  young  fruit  blighted  ere  the  yield ; 


46 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

Last  year  our  loved  ones  left  our  broken  heart — 
Still  we  that  mourn  may  know  this  better  part, 
How  some  hearts  waiting  Here,  deep-stirred,  hold  fast, 
Our  dead  are  of  our  Future,  not  our  past. 


The  Heart's  Elfland 

Joy  and  a  song  have  arisen 
From  childhood  in  my  heart; 

And  the  elf  birds  sing  as  they  listen, 
And  the  fairy  flower-bells  start. 

But  pain  and  a  song  is  my  portion 
Till  oft  from  the  dust  I  cry; 

And  the  poor  elfbirds  are  silent, 
And  the  fairy  flower-bells  die. 


He  Hath  Remembered  His  People 

Scorched  on  the  upland  the  fields  lie  brown 

In  the  burned,  mid-summer  glow. 

And  hearts  of  men  and  women  are  faint 

As  they  bend  at  their  labor  low; 

Till  they  hear  their  beating  human  hearts 

Like  muffled  sorrows  go, 

That  have  seen  all  human  joys  laid  waste; 

And  the  measure  of  human  woe 

Brimmed  to  the  brim;  till  the  human  hearts 

Crept  in  and  out  mid  the  ruined  fates, 

Like  sad  ghosts  to  and  fro. 

For  human  toil  is  endless  long, 

And  human  hopes  are  high. 

At  the  scorching  noontide  the  sorrows  grow, 

When  all  else  fareth  ill, 

When  naught  but  the  weeds  of  the  fates  grow  rank 

On  the  ribbed  and  sun-baked  hill. 

'Tis  then  the  toiler  turns  his  head, 

He  lifts  a  hope-dewed  eye 

To  the  promise  written  overhead, 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 47 

But  not  in  the  brazen  sky, 

The  hot  and  brazen  sky, 

The  promise  written  by  God's  own  hand 

Which  no  toiling  can  efface — 

The  witching  spell  of  a  baby's  cry, 

The  marvelous  hope  of  its  face. 

And  the  old  world  smiles,  and  the  fields  seem  gay, 

And  the  heavy  hearts  beat  wild ; 

For  God  has  remembered  His  people's  toil, 

And  the  hope  of  the  world  is  the  child. 


Her  Look  of  Love 

I  often  see  my  mother's  gentle  face 

Sweeter  than  angel's,  for  she  was  my  own; 

And  though  to  heavenly  beauty  she  has  grown 

I  could  not  have  that  kindly  look  give  place, 

That  saw  my  weaknesses,  but  felt  no  trace 

Of  lack  of  faith  in  me,  and  in  my  best 

That  yet  would  rise — and  did,  at  her  behest. 

Her  look  of  love,  I'll  see  again;  and  Earth's  be  Hea 


ven  s  grace 


Hid 

I  walked  deep  in  the  woods  one  day, 

And  a  heart  bled  at  my  feet, 
A  human  heart,  and  it  wished  to  hide 

Where  none  could  see  it  beat. 

A  fairy  man  in  the  grasses  tall 
Hid  the  bleeding  heart  in  leaves. 

They  were  leaves  of  books  and  leaves  of  song, 
And  he  cried,  "Now  none  perceives!" 

He  clapped  his  hands  (he  meant  so  well), 
"None  will  see;  they  will  call  it  art." 

But  I  saw  the  leaves  hid  not  at  all 
The  bleeding  human  heart. 


48 JOHN   Q'  DREAMS 

The  Hills 

Two  travellers  met  in  desert  wastes; 

Scorched  feet  had  walked  mid  dead  men's  bones. 
"Dost  know  the  hills?"  the  one  made  haste. 

"I  know."     They  were  not  words,  but  groans. 

The  hills !     A  thousand  cattle  lowed ; 

A  cottage  window  watched  for  day. 
And  through  the  sand  that  burned  and  blowed 

They  walked  as  brothers  on  their  way. 


His  Seal 

He  set  His  seal  upon  my  face 
And  left  me  waiting  in  my  place. 
I  could  not  flinch  nor  stand  aside 
Whate'er  befell,  I  must  abide. 

At  first  I  quailed  and  rent  my  hair 
When  jagged  lightning  tore  the  air. 
I  would  have  shrieked;  I  would  have  fled 
From  Him  who  rules  the  quick  and  dead. 

But  something  mighty  held  me  there 
And  steeled  my  weak  knees  strong  to  bear. 
And  last,  I  bow  and  thank  the  grace 
That  set  His  seal  upon  my  face. 


Home 

I  hope  it  won't  be  different, 

I  hope  it  won't  be  strange, 
When  I  shall  come  to  leaving  here 

To  face  that  mighty  change. 

I  don't  know  how  that  world  will  seem, 

Nor  how  it  all  will  be; 
This  is  enough :  my  mother's  face 

Will  make  it  a  home  for  me. 


The  Song  of  the  Birch 


JOHN  O'  DREAMS 49 

The  House  on  the  Milky  Way 

MOTHER 

I'm  faint.     My  limbs  are  heavy. 

DAUGHER 

Yes,  we'll  stop. 

We're  on  the  road  I  called  the  milky  way 
From  its  white  sand  when  I  was  but  a  child ; 
And  this  old  house  we  know  best  on  the  road, 
With  barns  and  orchards  of  sweet-fruited  trees, 
Except  the  quince.     It  teased  us  with  its  smell, 
But  it  was  bitter.     All  the  rest  were  good. 
It  is  a  kind  old  place.  It  stands  here  on  the  hillslope 
Toward  the  sun,  with  hospitable  doorways, 
And  open-faced  and  smiling  windows. 
Full  of  plenty  'tis,  and  happiness, 
And  natural,  we've  known  it  all  our  lives. 

[Turning  to  the  father.] 
Wait  here,  and  I'll  run  in;  she  can  lean  on  you. 

FATHER 

[To  himself.] 

Yes,  she  can  lean  on  me.     She's  leaned  on  me 
These  fifty  years.    Tomorrow  where's  our  strength? 
And  where  shall  we  be  fifty  years  from  now? 
Sis  has  not  thought.     The  young  see  not  o'er  far. 

DAUGHTER 

[Enters  hall.] 

I'll  not  disturb;  they  did  not  hear  my  knock. 
I'll  seat  her  in  the  parlor.     She  must  rest. 
There's  plenty  time  to  hunt  our  neighbor  up 
And  tell  her  we  were  wearing  out  her  chairs. 
She'll  laugh  at  that  odd  speech;  she  likes  our  jokes, 
And  we  have  known  each  other  all  our  lives. 
The  peacock  in  the  parlor  strutting  stuffed 
Who  strutted  living,  he  will  welcome  us. 

[She  opens  parlor  door  and  shuts  it  tight  sud 
denly,  her  eyes  wide.] 


50 JOHN    O'  DREAMS 

I  knocked  and  came  right  in;  I  had  not  heard, 
I  did  not  know  our  neighbors  had  one  dead 
And  waiting  burial.     Strange  we  did  not  hear. 
Well,  she  must  rest.    The  guest-room,  I'll  lead  there. 
[She  barely  opens  guest-room  door  and  shuts  it 

in  haste.] 

I  saw  it  out  of  the  tail  of  my  eye,  the  sweep  of  a  sheet. 
One  look  was  enough.  Our  neighbors  must  know  grief. 
Well,  it's  a  wide  house.  There's  some  place  for  her. 

[Door  after  door  she  opens  and  rushes  on  more 
and  more  hurriedly.] 

It  seemed  a  house  so  full  of  happiness, 
So  natural,  I'd  known  it  all  my  life, 
But  every  room,  the  best,  the  meanest, 
Those  for  state  occasions,  and  for  work, 
In  the  maid's  room,  the  grandmother's  room, 
Those  for  guests — in  every  room  they  are, 
The  sheeted  dead  are  everywhere. 
But  there  is  one  room,  how  could  I  forget, 
The  little  room  with  children  on  the  walls 
In  quaint,  prim  frames,  at  quainter  play, 
Who  never  run  or  shout,  but  roll  their  hoops 
So  still  it  made  us  laugh  when  we  were  small. 
They  always  had  good  manners  naturally, 
The  only  natural  thing  about  them.     There 
In  that  old  play-room,  how  could  I  forget, 
There  she  can  sit  her  down  at  peace  and  rest. 
She  need  not  know  of  the  sheeted  dead,  who  lie 
In  every  room,  as  she  goes  by  the  doors. 
I'll  peep  to  see  if  there's  a  chair  for  her, 
And  run  and  bring  her  up. 

[She  looks  and  shuts  the  door.] 

I'll  rush  out  to  the  porch;  they're  waiting  there. 
She  shall  not  enter — this  whole  house  is  death. 

[She  comes  "white-faced  upon  the  porch,  where  the 
two  are  waiting  in  the  sunshine,  the  mother 
leaning  heavily  on  the  father.  She  grasps  his 
sleeve  and  speaks  low  behind  the  mother's  back.] 

What  can  we  do? 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 51 

FATHER 
We  can  stand  it! 

DAUGHTER 

[To  herself.] 
No,  we  cannot! 

His  muscles  are  like  iron,  naught  can  dent  them; 
His  eyes  are  full  of  courage,  full  of  life, 
And  full  of  light:  his  heart  looks  out  of  them, 
And  nothing  can  prevail  against  it. 
As  he  took  my  fingers  in  his  clumsy  grasp, 
The  sunshine  streamed,  the  door  was  hospitable. 
I  could  see  and  bear. 

FATHER 

We'll  lead  her  in. 

DAUGHTER 

[To  herself.] 

His  step  goes  strong  and  sure  along  the  halls. 

[To  father.] 

With  us  supporting  her,  she  cannot  guess 
Behind  those  fast-closed  doors — 

FATHER 

A  neighbor's  house,  we've  known  it  all  our  lives, 
With  plenteous  orchards,  rich,  with  kindly  fruit. 

DAUGHTER 

But  there  were  bitter  quinces. 

FATHER 

And  wind-falls,  too,  they  sold  for  early  fruit — 
And  so  they  were,  too  early.  Queer  old  place, 
The  one  we  know  best  on  your  milky  way. 

DAUGHTER 

You  make  it  seem  our  world  you're  laughing  at, 
One  of  the  stars  along  the  milky  way, 
And  not  our  neighbor's  house, 
Homey  with  old  association. 


52 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

FATHER 
Who  knows?     Perhaps  it  is. 

DAUGHTER 

[To  herself.] 

How  can  he  jest  or  talk  in  figures  so, 
As  he  is  wont  to  do.     'Tis  his  Yankee  blood, 
Saying  plain  things  with  mighty  meanings. 
He  turns  it  off,  so  she'll  not  understand, 
Just  he  and  I  shall  know.     My  heart  aches  so. 
Why  should  he  lead  her  in?     It  seems  so  wrong. 
'Tis  not  our  neighbor's  house,  'tis  not  the  place 
Long  years  familiar  as  the  air  we  breathe. 
She  cannot  rest  here  in  this  awful  house, 
With  sheeted  dead  in  every  room. 
He  leads  her  up  steep  stairs — they're  hard  to  climb — 
And  chooses  out  a  tiny  little  room 
From  all  the  house. 

[She  looks  over  her  mother  to  him  as  he  mounts 
the  last  step  and  enters.] 

Why  here? 

FATHER 

They're  all  alike,  the  rooms.     The  difference 
Is  only  we  ourselves,  how  we  can  bear, 
For  we  must  bear  it,  and  it  is  not  new. 
The  house  is  just  the  same  it  always  was. 
It  is  not  different;  it  is  just  the  same, 
A  goodly  house  to  dwell  in,  natural. 
'Tis  yet.     The  dead  have  been  in  every  room 
But  we  had  not  our  dead  and  did  not  know. 

[He  brushes  the  tears  out  of  his  eyes  with  the  back 
of  his  hand.] 

Tis  a  good  house. 

MOTHER 

Lift  me  up.     The  way  was  steep.     I'd  rest. 

[He  lifts  her  upon  a  high,  narrow  cot  to  rest.] 


JOHN   O'   DREAMS 63 

FATHER 

Tis  natural. 

DAUGHTER 

Yes,  yes,  I  bear  it  now. 
How  our  neighbors'  hearts  have  ached  in  their  sides. 

FATHER 

Yes. 

DAUGHTER 

[After  a  silence.] 

Perhaps  'twas  wrong  I  sang  and  laughed 
Sometimes  when  I  did.     Perhaps!     I  did  not  know. 

FATHER 

No,  no,  'twas  best.    The  neighbors  need  youth's  joy. 

DAUGHTER 

And  you  and  she  knew  always,  knew  this  thing, 
And  yet  you  did  not  tell. 

FATHER 

Yes,  you  were  young; 
'Twas  better  so.     We  all  know  in  our  time. 

DAUGHTER 

And  you  both  knew,  you  when  you  led  her  in, 
She  when  she  leaned  on  you.     And  you  could  bear  it! 
And  as  our  hearts  ache,  so  our  neighbors'  ache, 
And  we  all  sit  together  with  our  dead. 

FATHER 

Yes,  yes,  we  sit  so.     We  bear  it.     'Tis  natural 
Here  in  this  house  along  your  milky  way. 


Hushaby 

Hushaby,  hushaby!     Winds  that  are  blowing, 
Hushaby,  sigh  and  sigh.     Cattle  are  lowing. 

Hushaby,  hushaby, 
The  sunshine  and  summer  is  going. 


54 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

Hushaby,  hushaby!     Soft  shadows  creeping, 
Hushaby,  gently  lie  o'er  chilled  grasses  weeping. 

Hushaby,  hushaby, 
This  summer  long  some  one  is  sleeping. 

If  a  Man  Ask  for  Bread 

My  grief  was  great;  I  leaned  upon  you 

With  heart  that  trusted  much  and  felt  secure. 

I  reached  out  my  hands  and  cried,   "My  friend,  I 

suffer," 

Sure  you  would  heed,  and  found  I  could  endure. 
The  world  might  give  me  burdens  past  my  bearing, 
A  brother's  voice  might  curse  and  leave  me  alone, 
I  cried  for  bread;  my  friend,  I  knew,  would  answer. 
He  did.     The  cry  was  heard.     He  gave — a  stone. 

If  a  Man  Dies  Shall  He  Live  Again 

The  dawnlight  fell  on  the  snow 

And  the  snow  was  rosy  grown. 

The  dawnlight  fell  on  thee — 

My  poor  love,  the  priest  said  so, 

As  he  read  from  a  book  in  the  dark, 

Said  the  dawnlight  fell  on  thee — 

And  thou  lay  with  thy  hands  crossed,  silent, 

And  thy  pale  lips  said  not  if  'twere  dawning 

Or  if  'twere  eternal  night. 

My  tongue  was  parched  and  dumb. 
Up  my  heart  leaped  and  then  went  still 
Like  the  waters  froze  to  the  shore 
That  once  mad  leaped  and  strove. 

Here  I  stand  by  my  mill  and  grind 
And  no  tears  fall  on  the  meal. 
I  watch  it.  Dry  and  dusty  it  is, 
And  my  throat  as  dust  is  dry. 
My  lips  are  parched  and  dry- 
Parched  for  thy  kisses. 


JOHN   O'   DREAMS 55 

And  the  day  goes  round 

As  the  mill  goes  round. 

The  dawnlight  falls  on  the  hills 

And  it  flushes  the  snow  to  red. 

I  heard  Annette  whisper  so  to  a  lad 

As  he  helped  her  turn  the  wheel. 

Poor  little  Annette,  I  am  sorry  for  her 

With  the  ribbons  tied  in  her  hair; 

And  he  with  the  look  in  his  bright  black  eyes, 

With  the  smile  that  melts  in  his  eyes. 

Poor  little  Annette,  she  is  only  a  child, 
She  has  not  lived.     I  knew  her  once; 
She  played  at  school  with  me; 
We  studied  our  Credos  together, 
And  the  priest — oh,  the  priest! 

My  love,  did  the  dawnlight  fall  on  thee? 

Come  to  me  out  of  that  blackness 

And  tell  me,  art  thou  yet? 

Art  thou  yet?     Art  thou  living? 

Oh,  the  meal  falls  in  heaps  on  the  pavement, 

I  am  slack  with  my  grinding. 

I  have  ground  here  for  infinite  ages 

And  for  infinite  ages  more  I  shall  grind. 

My  love,  dost  thou  hear 

Through  the  measureless  distance? 

Canst  thou  hear?     Canst  thou  heed? 

My  love,  oh,  my  love,  was  it  dawnlight 

That  paled  thee  to  marble? 

Oh,  if  I  knew  it  were  dawnlight 

If  I  knew,  I  would  sing  at  my  task; 

I  would  set  my  mill  whirring; 

I  would  haste,  I  would  shout,  I  would  laugh; 

I'd  outdo  poor  Annette  there  in  joying; 

I  would  joy  as  a  bride  at  the  kirk-bells 

At  the  sound  of  my  mill,  if  I  knew, 

Oh,  my  love,  if  I  knew  it  were  dawnlight. 

But  the  air  brings  me  back  but  my  cry, 

And  the  dust  of  my  grinding. 


56  JOHN   O'  DREAMS 


In  April 

The  clouds  sail  over  the  hilltops, 
The  sunshine  sifts  through  the  trees, 

And  the  shadows  dance  and  flitter 
As  the  branches  move  in  the  breeze. 

The  sky  is  turquoise  above  me, 
And  a  robin  is  glad  hard  by, 

And  up  from  the  springy  meadows 
Comes  a  lambkin's  bleating  cry. 

The  buttercups  smile  by  the  roadside 
For  the  buds  are  large  on  the  trees, 

And  the  wake-robin  lifts  up  her  beauty 
From  the  violets  'round  her  knees. 


And  there  is  a  smell  in  my  nostrils 

That  comes  from  the  fresh,  damp  earth; 

And  something  within  me  is  happy, 
Just  happy  without  any  mirth. 

There  is  such  an  exultant  feeling 
Fills  everything  under  the  sky; 

It's  enough  to-day  to  be  living, 
We  know  it,  the  world  and  I. 


The  Inevitable 

I  come  into  my  garden, 

A  hop-toad  blinks  on  the  ledge, 
The  flox-edged  path  is  like  powder, 

The  crickets  drone  from  the  hedge. 

Something  is  gone  from  my  garden. 

The  clover  is  crisped  and  brown, 
The  curled-up  corn  is  dusty, 

The  sunflower's  head  hangs  down. 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 57 

A  something  is  gone  from  my  garden, 

Yet  the  summer  day  is  hot, 
And  the  sun  shines  bright  in  heaven, 

And  the  evil  days  are  not. 

We  were  glad  at  dew-fall,  nor  knew  it, 

It  is  born  with  the  day  begun: 
No  garden  can  hold  the  summer; 

No  heart  can  hold  the  sun. 


In  May 

The  roofs  are  white  in  the  sun ; 
The  nests  of  the  sparrows  are  done. 

It  is  May, 

Hearts  are  gay, 
For  the  tide  of  the  year  is  begun. 

The  violets  purple  the  lea; 
A  clover  is  laughing  at  me. 

Faces  show  it, 

Breezes  blow  it, 
That  hearts  are  as  glad  as  can  be. 

In  Morning  Light 

The  while  I  sit  alone  in  gathering  shadow, 
Stunned  by  the  creeping  chill  and  black  of  night, 
My  world  of  questions  rolling  into  blackness, 
They  read  his  answers  in  his  morning  light. 
Beyond  the  eventide,  beyond  the  sunset, 
Beyond  the  first  star  faint  high  in  the  west, 
Beyond  Earth's  night,  in  God's  eternal  sunrise 
There  lies  my  home  and  those  who  love  me  best. 

In  the  Autumn 

The  marshland  winds  a  river  green 

Across  the  fields  of  brown; 
The  milkweeds  by  the  meadow  creek 

Spread  out  their  wings  of  down. 


58 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

Like  wigwams  stand  the  shocks  of  corn 
Bright  heaps  spread  at  their  door. 

The  nuts  fall  with  each  gust  of  wind, 
The  squirrels  seek  their  store. 

The  sumac  bushes  are  aflame, 
The  hickory  trees  are  gold, 

A  fading  sunlight  falls  afield, 
To-night  it  will  be  cold. 


In  the  Morning 

The  day  at  last  comes  stealing  o'er  the  hills, 
And  all  the  creeping  folk  begin  to  wake. 

The  wraithlike  fog  is  lifting  from  the  pines, 
And  trails  its  phantom  garments  o'er  the  lake. 

The  flower-cups  have  waited  day  to  come 
So  long  time  they  are  heavy  with  the  dew. 

The  little  birds  are  calling  to  their  mates. 
The  day  has  come.  My  heart  is  calling  you. 


In  the  Universal  Language 

A  little  bird  sang  in  a  wood 

From  out  the  fulness  of  his  heart; 

I  listened  and  I  understood, 

'Twas  such  transcendent  artless  art. 

My  little  brother  sweetly  told 

His  secret — 'tis  not  mine  to  tell — 

Which  God  had  whispered  in  his  ear, 
Who  loves  His  children  passing  well. 


The  Keepsakes 

I  treasure  the  little  keepsakes, 
And  give  them  a  tender  caress; 

And  a  love  that  tears  my  heartstrings 
Smoothes  the  folds  out  of  your  dress. 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 59 

For  you  have  discarded  the  keepsakes ; 

And  I  know  that  I  never  can  see 
You  coming  with  glad-faced  affection, 

In  that  dress  as  you  used  to  be. 

Lay  of  Elfwine 
(Adapted  from  the  Eddie  Song) 

Now  when  the  fight  was  joined, 
Gefids  and  Lombards, 
Each  would  not  yield  to  each, 
One  to  the  other. 
Elfwine  and  Thurismund, 
Sons  of  the  rival  kings, 
Chiefs  of  the  rival  hosts, 
Mightily  struggled. 
Thrust  followed  sword  thrust, 
Staggered  the  faithful  horse, 
Spurted  the  life-blood  forth, 
Heavily  fell  Thurismund. 

Then  when  the  leader  fell 
Melted  his  soldiers'  hearts, 
Melted  his  men  from  sight, 
Vanquished  in  battle. 
Black  was  the  field  with  dead, 
Black  with  the  Lombards 
Chasing  the  fleeing  hosts 
Smiting  them  fiercely. 

When  all  the  field  was  bare, 
When  all  the  dead  were  stripped, 
Laden  with  spoil  they  went 
Back  to  King  Eadwine, 
•  Begging  that  Elfwine, 
Valorous  victor, 
Sit  by  his  father 
Comrade  at  table 
As  by  his  side  he  stood 
Comrade  in  danger.  * 


60 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

Then  answered  Eadwine  them: 
"There  is  a  custom: 
No  prince  of  ours  shall  sit 
Down  with  his  father 
Having  no  weapons  gained 
Fighting  another, 
Prince  of  another  folk, 
Valiant  as  he  is." 

So  went  young  Elf  wine  forth, 

So  went  forth  forty, 

Unto  King  Thuriswend, 

Father  of  Thurismund, 

King  of  the  Gefids. 

They  would  bring  back  the  sword, 

Their  due  by  conquest. 

When  they  were  welcomed, 

Seated  at  table, 

And  in  the  dead  son's  place 

Feasted  young  Elfwine; 

When  all  the  servants  passed 

Serving  at  table; 

Then  sighed  King  Thuriswend, 

Then  broke  his  grief  in  words: 

"Dear  is  the  seat  to  me, 

Grief  he  that  sits  therein!" 

Then  the  king's  second  son 
Roused  by  his  father's  wrath, 
Pitched  at  the  Lombards, 
Stung  them  with  filthy  speech, 
Said  they  were  like  to  mares, 
Mares  with  white  stockings. 
The  men  wore  round  their  calves 
White  swathings  banded. 

Then  cried  a  Lombard  man: 
"Go  out  to  Asfield. 
There  you  can  plainly  learn 
How  these  same  mares  can  kick, 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS (U 

There  lie  your  brother's  bones 
Scattered  amidst  the  field 
Like  unto  wretched  bones, 
Bones  of  a  pack-horse." 

Then  were  they  moved  to  wrath, 
Then  rose  they  for  the  fray. 
This  scoff  had  bitten  each, 
These  taunts  had  galled  them  all. 
Each  hand  was  on  the  hilt, 
Each  earl  had  touched  his  sword. 

Then  sprang  the  King  from  meat, 
Thrust  in  between  them : 
"Woe  him  who  starts  the  fight! 
Woe  him  who  smites  his  guest!" 
So  they  removed  their  swords, 
Feasted  with  gladsome  hearts, 
And  the  King  gave  his  guest, 
Gave  to  Prince  Elfwine, 
Weapons  that  were  his  son's, 
Sped  him  in  safety. 

Elfwine  went  back  again, 
Back  to  his  father. 
Sat  as  his  guest  henceforth 
Eating  the  dainties; 
Placed  at  his  father's  side, 
Praised  high  for  valor. 

The  Lesson 

I  lost  a  friend  by  death, 

And  then  I  thought  I  knew 

The  blackest  grief  in  sorrow's  school. 

O,  then  I  thought  I  knew. 

I  lost  a  friend.     My  faith 
In  all  things  good  and  true 
He  trampled  on  and  sinned  away. 
O,  then  I  knew  I  knew. 


62 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

Life 

O,  Life,  thou  art  so  fair, 

With  sunshine  in  thy  hair. 

I'll  take  thee  with  me  when  I  go 

Out  in  the  shadows,  wearied,  slow. 

We'll  creep  out  hand  in  hand 
Into  that  other  land, 
Where  I  may  read,  without  disguise 
At  last,  the  meaning  in  thine  eyes. 


Life,  an  Indeterminate  Sentence 

At  best  I'm  but  a  prisoner 
My  past  and  present  one, 

And  any  day  the  Governor 
May  speak  my  sentence  done. 

But  I  give  thee  all  my  present 
And  so  I  give  my  past; 

I  cannot  give  my  future 
For  God  doth  hold  it  fast. 

And  niggards  are  his  angels 
For  they  may  dole  to  me 

From  out  my  thousand  aeons 
One  present  day  with  thee. 


The  Little  Boy  that  Died 
(In  memory  of  my  nephew,  Mahlon  Dickinson.) 

The  lads  go  wading  in  the  creek 

That  wanders  through  the  town, 
To  hunt  where  schools  of  minnows  hide, 

Their  little  legs  tanned  brown. 
They  know  when  berries  should  be  ripe, 

And  where  the  gophers  hide. 
He  used  to  know  these  very  things, 

The  little  boy  that  died. 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 63 

In  fall  they  scour  the  woods  for  nuts, 

And  climb  the  apple-trees. 
They  sight  the  rabbit  in  the  brush 

And  laugh  because  he  sees. 
And  then  they  troop  along  from  school, 

Their  books  swung  at  their  side, 
And  shout  and  run.     He  did  so  once, 

The  little  boy  that  died. 

And  as  I  sit  and  see  them  go, 

This  early  winter  day, 
It  seems  another  marches  there 

And  joins  them  at  their  play. 
He  eager  learns  for  coming  years, 

He  wins  the  head  with  pride. 
They  will  be  men ;  but  he  will  be 

The  little  boy  that  died. 


The  Little  Children  of  the  Poor 

Babes,  who  know  men's  labor 
As  they  know  men's  sin, 

Young  only  that  their  life 
Did  just  begin. 


Little  Gold  Curls 

He  stood  in  the  sunlight,  my  little  Gold  Curls, 

With  a  light  in  his  laughing  face, 
And  a  jubilant  note  in  his  baby  voice, 

As  he  said  with  his  childish  grace, 
That  the  butterflies  out  by  the  garden  spring, 

As  they  came  and  went  in  whirls, 
Had  told  him  that  soon  he  should  be  a  man 

And  not  my  little  Gold  Curls. 

And  then,  as  a  shadow  fell  on  my  heart 
At  this  news  from  the  butterflies, 

I  tried  to  smile  for  I  saw  the  clouds 
Reflected  in  his  eyes. 


64 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

But  his  tiny  arms  crept  round  my  neck, 

"I  will  save  my  dresses  and  curls. 
I  will  be  a  big  man  for  a  little  while, 

And  then  your  little  Gold  Curls." 

Time  will  be  when  my  little  Gold  Curls  will  come 

To  that  sweet-breathed  garden  spring, 
And  will  vainly  ask  of  the  butterflies 

With  mottled  and  yellow  wing, 
Some  news  of  the  child  with  his  curls  and  toys 

And  a  heart  as  pure  as  pearls, 
For  they  will  not  list  to  his  strange,  deep  voice 

As  they  did  to  my  little  Gold  Curls. 


The  Lost  Rose 

Within  an  old-time  garden 
Where  fairest  flowers  grew 

I  found  a  lovely  rose-spray 

Whose  leaves  were  wet  with  dew. 

My  fingers  touched  it  lightly, 
I  breathed  its  fragrance  rare. 

My  hand  drew  back,  for  roses 
Were  growing  everywhere. 

And  when,  the  morning  ended, 
No  rose  was  found  so  sweet, 

I  came — too  late,  its  petals 
Were  scattered  at  my  feet. 


Lullaby 

Sleep,  little  flower,  and  take  thy  rest 
Pillowed  securely  on  mother's  breast; 
Angels  to  guard  thee,  and  mother  to  love, 
Dear  little  flower  from  gardens  above. 

Sleep,  little  flower,  thy  soft  hands  pressed 
Close  to  the  pain  in  thy  mother's  breast. 
May  they  reach  to  soothe  in  the  years  to  be 
The  great  world's  heart,  as  they  now  soothe  me. 


'I  sit  here  with  my  river  mists 
Wrapped  round  about  me 
These  hundred  aeons 
And  watch  your  human  tide 
Roll  at  my  feet." 


Song  of  the  Rocks 
Page  93 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 65 

Sleep,  little  flower,  thou  dost  not  know, 
These  tender  feet  must  a  man's  way  go. 
Yet  mother  can  bear  it,  for  God  is  love, 
And  life  shall  lead  to  His  gardens  above. 

So  sleep,  little  flower,  and  be  at  rest, 
Pillowed  all  pure  on  thy  mother's  breast. 
God  holds  the  future,  and  mother  will  love, 
Sleep,  little  flower,  from  gardens  above. 


Made  Sorrow-Wise 

Compassed  with  darkness,  heartsore  for  the  dawn, 

I  stumble  through  this  world  of  wilderness, 

Alone.     My  God!     I've  drunk  of  emptiness 

The  stale  and  bitter  lees,  since  she  is  gone. 

But  I  have  bought  a  pearl  in  Wisdom's  mart; 

Oh,  that  I  might  have  learned  and  yet  been  glad — 

Since  Eden  each  of  us  has  cried  thus,  mad; 

I've  learned  the  godlike  greatness  of  the  human  heart. 


Man  and  Inner  Man 

Aeschere  is  dead,  the  mighty  warrior! 

So  all  men  held  him,  and  they  feared  his  face 

And  mailed  hand  that  wielded  battle-ax. 

But  this  small  maid  of  seven  summers 

Whose  curls  were  toyed  with  once 

Weeps  Aeschere,  the  gentle  father, 

And  this  pale  woman  coins  her  heart  in  tears 

In  listing  for  the  gravely  gentle  tones 

To  soothe  her  heart  across  the  awful  silence, 

For  Aeschere  is  gone,  the  tender  loved  one. 

And  yet  that  voice  once  brayed  the  battle-horn 
And  spit  out  taunts  in  thunder  on  the  foeman 
Till  fields  ran  like  the  sword,  blood  hungry. 
Yes,  Aeschere  is  dead,  the  mighty  warrior! 
For  so  the  street  cries  run. 


66 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

But  Aschere,  the  gentle,  loving,  tender, 
Aeschere,  the  man,  the  streets  know  not. 
And  Aeschere  is  dead ! 

The  Market-Place 

The  old,  the  gay,  the  alien, 
The  crowds  of  the  market-place, 
We  human  tide  are  brothers, 
God's  image  in  our  face, 
And  life  is  sore  for  most  of  us 
As  we  pass  from  place  to  Place. 

The  uncared  for  little  children, 
Predestined  from  the  womb 
For  vacant  eyes,  or  cunning, 
Their  fathers'  sin  their  doom, 
O,  Thou,  just  God,  remember 
Their  souls  that  dwell  in  gloom. 

All  those  who  are  weighed  and  found  wanting, 

Whom  the  rough  world  casts  aside, 

Who  are  neither  big  nor  good  enough 

To  forgive  and  let  it  bide, 

God,  Thou  art  good,  these  unkept  lives 

Keep  Thou  in  mercy  wide. 

There  are  some  of  the  aged  who  wear  life's  crown, 

Who  through  duty  and  love  found  Grace; 

And  the  pure  in  heart  who  see  the  Good ; 

And  the  sweet  babe's  flower  face; 

Thy  presence  through  these  is  still  with  us 

And  Thou  walk'st  in  the  market-place. 

Marsh  Weeds 

Over  the  marshlands, 

Over  the  waste  lands, 

Stretches  the  snow. 

With  its  crust  sun-warmed  and  turned  to  ice, 
'Round  the  stalks  of  its  dead  weed  flowers, 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 67_ 

The  pitiless  sun 

But  warms  the  crust 

To  turn  it  to  ice, 
Shaded  by  cold  blue  silhouettes 
Of  the  clumps  of  the  deed  weed  flowers. 

Desolate  marsh ! 

It  had  but  weeds 

Out  of  its  past. 

At  night  the  wind  blows  over  its  wastes 
Snapping  the  stalks  of  its  dead  weed  flowers. 


Midwinter 

The  woodland  stands  dead  silent 
Knee-deep  in  ice  and  snow, 

And  through  the  shivering  tree-tops 
The  winds  of  winter  blow. 

From  out  a  blasted  tamarack 

The  owl  sets  up  his  cry; 
A  frighted  rabbit  scampers 

Fleet  for  the  brush  hard  by. 


The  Miller 

The  giant  stones  grind  on, 

And  the  wheels  crack  as  they  turn, 

And  the  heat  and  the  dust  is  thick 
So  the  eyes  can  not  discern. 

The  plump  young  grains  go  in 

And  the  crushed,  blanched  meal  comes  out. 
They  say  that  it  all  goes  well, 

For  a  miller  is  hereabout. 

But  we  cannot  see  in  the  dust, 
And  the  wheels  make  a  dizzy  sound, 

Still  there  must  be  a  God  in  the  world 
For  in  time  the  grist  is  ground. 


68 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

Mother 

My  light  of  heaven  has  been  a  human  face, 
A  human  heart.     My  mother  bore  the  trust, 
And  God's  decrees  like  hers  seemed  meted  just 
Till  will  in  me  to  will  in  her  gave  place; 
His  loving  kindness  was  her  tender  grace; 
She  was  my  light  of  days,  my  childhood's  must; 
She  was  God's  image  kindly  stamped  in  dust 
That  I  might  see  perfection  in  my  race. 


Mother-Love 

Only  one  nest  in  the  apple-tree, 
Only  this  one,  seek  the  wide  world  over, 
Where  the  sunbeams  come,  and  the  yellow  bee, 
And  the  air  is  sweet  with  the  breath  of  clover. 

Only  one  place  where  the  nestlings  peep, 
Only  this  one  for  the  little  mother. 
And  the  sight  of  it  makes  her  glad  heart  leap 
For  the  orchard  bloom  holds  not  such  another. 

Only  this  one.     Could  the  birdlings  know! 

Only  this  one,  they  will  find  no  other. 

When  the  summer's  done,  and  afar  they  go 

They  may  search  the  world,  there  is  but  one  mother. 


The  Mourning  Dove 

When  passing  through  the  woodland 
I  heard  a  mourning  dove. 

His  voice  drip-full  of  sorrow 
Came  from  the  trees  above. 

And  I  stood  still,  enchanted, 

And  listened  to  his  song. 
He  poured  forth  in  his  moaning 

What  I  had  pent  up  long. 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 69 

My  Grandmother's  Kitchen 

When  I'm  sitting  in  the  firelight 
And  the  shadows  wax  and  wane, 
And  am  listening  to  the  music 
Of  the  kettle  on  the  crane, 
Hear  it  dreaming,  hear  it  singing, 
See  the  misty  dreamclouds  winging 
Which  to  me  old  scenes  are  bringing 
Once  again, 

Then  I  see  an  airy  kitchen 
With  a  polished  maple  floor, 
With  a  row  of  milkpans  blinking 
In  the  sunshine  by  the  door, 
With  the  breath  of  clover  coming, 
And  the  sound  of  bees  a-humming, 
And  the  kettle  cover's  tumming 
O'er  and  o'er. 

And  I  see  a  sweet-faced  woman 
Like  the  pictures  out  of  date, 
With  a  kerchief,  cap,  and  apron, 
And  a  homespun  gown  sedate 
By  a  latticed  window  bending 
O'er  her  work.     And  comes  unending 
The  low  song  the  kettle's  sending 
From  the  grate. 

And  I  see  a  crude  pine  table 
With  its  homespun  linen  white, 
And  its  blue-decked  cups  and  saucers, 
And  its  pewter  polished  bright. 
And  the  iron  cover  flutters, 
And  the  boiling  kettle  mutters, 
And  it  gurgles,  and  it  sputters 
With  delight. 

And  I  see  a  group  of  children, 
With  the  firelight  on  each  face, 
Curled  on  stools  or  lying  careless 
All  about  the  chimney-place. 


70 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

Wondrous  stories  they  are  telling, 
And  each  little  heart  is  welling, 
And  the  kettle's  song  is  swelling 
Keeping  pace. 

But  the  hazy  dream-clouds  vanish 
And  the  old-time  pictures  go, 
And  the  shadows  'round  me  deepen, 
And  the  kettle's  song  is  low. 
And  my  thoughts  afar  are  flying, 
While  the  shadows  deep  are  lying, 
And  the  kettle's  song  is  dying, 
Soft  and  low. 


My  Mother's  Hands 

Poor  hands!     So  thin  and  worn, 

But  clasped  in  rest 

Above  a  heart, 

That  could  it  ask  one  small  request, 

Would  ask — Those  meekly  folded  hands 

In  tireless  love 

Have  toiled  for  me  the  years, 

They  plead  above. 


My  Ring 

My  ring,  my  pretty  ring  of  gold, 
You  shut  the  world  out  and  its  cold; 
You  shut  his  love  in  close  to  me, 
And  seal  me  his  eternally. 

My  ring,  my  pretty  ring  of  gold, 
Two  loves  within  your  band  you  hold, 
With  one  pulse  beating,  fettered,  free, 
My  love  for  him,  his  love  for  me. 

My  ring,  my  pretty  ring  is  gold. 
His  ring,  my  arms,  I  round  him  fold, 
Content,  pressed  next  his  heart,  to  be 
For  him  alone,  and  he  for  me. 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 71 

The  Mystery 

The  great  stars  shine  in  silence, 
And  the  mystery  no  man  knows 

Breathes  through  the  black  pine  masses, 
And  broods  where  the  river  flows. 

But  the  earth  knows  not  of  the  mystery, 
Nor  the  great  stars  far  and  still ; 

Tis  my  soul  alone  feels  it  everywhere 
Since  they  lie  asleep  on  the  hill. 

The  Nest 

It  was  perched  in  the  crotch  of  an  old  apple-tree, 
A  nest  that  was  staunch  and  as  snug  as  could  be. 
It  had  sturdy  mud  walls  and  a  lining  of  hair 
And  five  pretty  eggs  rested  cosily  there. 

And  a  plump  mother  robin  sat  long  on  the  nest. 
She  felt  the  blue  eggs  hidden  under  her  breast, 
And  she  looked  down  upon  me,  her  head  on  one  side, 
And  pitied  my  lot,  while  her  heart  swelled  with  pride. 

And  her  mate  from  the  lilac  would  sing  her  his  praise. 
Oh,  they  were  so  glad  in  those  long,  sunny  days. 
But  the  skies  grew  all  black,  and  the  wind  blew  a  gale, 
The  sleet  struck  their  house  with  his  gauntlet  of  mail. 

It  passed  on.     But  five  eggs  lay  all  crushed  on  the 

ground, 

And  two  frightened  robins  were  flying  around. 
Would  that  I  could  put  back  in  the  old  apple-tree 
The  nest  and  the  birdlings  that  were  to  be ! 

Never  Mind  Me 

Never  mind  me,  never  mind  me 

If  I  let  the  hot  tears  blind  me, 

Since  the  hard  old  world  has  happened  to  say,  No. 

I  am  young  and  I  can  bear  it, 

You  are  old  and  should  not  share  it; 

You  have  known  your  share  of  trouble;  let  it  go. 


72 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

Never  mind  me,  never  mind  me, 

If  some  little  sorrow  find  me, 

This  is  hardest  that  it  has  to  fall  on  you. 

Let  the  world  dole  sweetmeats  chary 

What  of  that?     I'll  play  I'm  merry, 

And  who  knows  but  playing  still  will  make  things  true? 


The  New  Moon 

The  grapes  of  life's  wine-press  are  smeared  over  the 

blue 

With  a  touch  of  lost  blessedness  glinting  through ; 
The  good  old  earth  with  its  browned,  homely  face, 
The  cattle  and  flocks  and  the  neighbor's  place 
Are  blotted  out.     I  stand  in  the  gray 
Alone,  with  the  moon  sunk  far  away, 
The  new,  new  moon  like  a  silver  rim, 
And  the  present  things  grow  blotted  dim. 
'Tis  mid-summer  night's  oppressive  heat, 
The  great  black  trees,  the  narrow  street, 
The  sky  so  big  it  was  all  that  was  true, 
And  our  little  household  dead  with  you ! 
The  struggle,  the  awe!     It  could  not  be — 
Your  pulse  would  come,  you  would  stay  with  me. 
But  the  new,  new  moon  passed  with  your  breath 
And  left  me  that  night  face  to  face  with  death. 


Nobody  Like  You 

The  people  smile  in  the  town  on  me 

As  I  am  passing  through. 
Their  nod  and  smile  is  good  to  see, 

But — nobody  smiles  like  you. 

The  people  give  me  a  kindly  word, 

And  make  a  great  ado 
Of  passing  the  time  of  day  they've  heard, 

But — nobody  speaks  like  you. 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 73 

Such  goodly  words  and  smiles  we  change. 

I'm  sure  they  mean  it,  too, 
The  people  seem  so  good.     But  strange — 

There's  nobody  seems  like  you! 


No  Other  Way 

Up  o'er  the  sodden  hill-road 

With  ruts  cut  miry  deep, 
Past  clumps  of  shapeless  flowers 

The  black  frost  held  in  keep, 
On  o'er  the  freezing  world  waste 

On  in  the  dying  day, 
The  traveler  went  forth  alone — 

There  was  no  other  way. 

The  chill  of  even  chilled  his  blood, 
The  landscape  blurred  in  night, 

The  west  shut  out  its  last  pale  glow, 
And  not  a  star  gave  light; 

The  sodden  hill-road  grew  more  steep, 
But  home  not  far  away 

The  traveler  walked  brave  with  Death- 
There  was  no  other  way ! 


Not  in  Vain 

The  land  was  life;  and  death  was  the  sea: 
Its  slow  gray  waves  lapped  eternity. 
But  a  few  little  sands  thrown  up  on  shore 
Thought  all  for  themselves  was  the  rush  and  roar, 
To  grind  them  and  toss  them  in  wild  rebound 
Until  no  rest  to  their  souls  was  found. 
And  they  fretted  and  chafed  to  be  puppets  so 
By  the  cruel  waves  tossed  to  and  fro. 
The  stars  crept  out  of  abysmal  night 
And  their  calm  eyes  saw  that  all  was  right 
Where  the  bar  of  sands  by  the  edge  of  the  sea 
Kept  back  the  waves  of  eternity. 


74 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

November 

Rain  is  on  the  roses, 
Tears  are  in  my  eyes, 

Sodden  leaves  lie  helpless 
Under  weeping  skies. 

Mute,  the  wasted  garden 
Lifts  its  barren  stalks; 

Rain  and  Death  are  chatting 
By  the  dripping  walks. 

Poor  November  roses, 

Drenched,  they  fall  apart. 

Who  can  choose  his  season? 
Be  thou  stilled,  my  heart. 


The  Old  School  Slate 

I  found  it  to-day  in  the  attic 

Where  long  it  had  lain  from  sight 
With  the  dust  of  years  upon  it 

And  cracks  from  left  to  right. 
Though  it's  old  and  cracked  and  dingy 

What  scenes  it  can  awake, 
For  it  brings  me  back  my  boyhood 

That  dingy  old  school  slate. 

There  are  holes  where  my  sponge  was  fastened 

And  too,  cut  deep  in  the  frame 
In  letters  out  of  proportion 

Boldly  appears  my  name. 
To  try  my  new  knife  we  cut  them, 

I  and  my  seatmate  Joe. 
How  proud  I  was  of  his  carving ! 

Was  it  all  years  ago? 

There  are  scratches  of  figures  on  it, 

Here  a  six,  a  four,  and  eight. 
Oh,  the  mass  of  tedious  problems 

Which  glared  once  from  that  slate. 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 75 

Here  are  curves  of  long  division, 

There  lines  and  dots  I  see 
Which  speak  of  other  puzzles 

Than  roots  or  rule  of  three. 

And  there  are  the  faintest  of  traces 

Of  pictures  drawn  long  ago 
Of  schoolmates'  and  teachers'  faces. 

That  talent  caused  me  woe, 
For  oft  I  stood  in  the  corner, 

Recess  games  in  my  pate, 
Disgraced  before  all  the  pupils 

My  head  bent  o'er  that  slate. 

And  sometimes  I  wrote  upon  it 

In  a  hand  quite  light  for  me 
A  name,  just  to  see  it  written, 

Afraid  lest  Joe  should  see. 
One  breath  and  it  was  lost  from  sight 

Just  as  each  friend  and  mate 
Have  vanished  from  me  whom  I  loved 

When  I  used  that  old  slate. 


On  the  Marshes 

Over  a  rail-fence 

Tumbled  down, 

A  stretch  of  marsh 

Scant  green  and  brown, 
Shadowed  by  rain-clouds  passing  by, 
Reaches  away  to  the  lowery  sky. 

Only  sparse  herbage, 

Last  year's  weeds, 

Stunted  bushes 

And  tangled  reeds 
Over  the  endless  level  ground 
With  low  thick  underbrush  around. 


76 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

And  a  lark  spreads  out 

Its  wings  to  fly, 

It  wheels  and  soars 

Far  to  the  sky. 

Would  I  had  wings  and  could  fly  away 
From  the  hampering  dullness  of  every  day. 


Our  Parting 

When  people  part  with  strangers 
They  smile  them  out  of  sight. 

But  me  you  kissed  with  vacant  eyes 
And  lips  unwholesome  white. 

And  strangers  bid  each  other 

God  speed  upon  the  way. 
But  me  you  reached  a  hand  grown  cold 

And  had  no  word  to  say. 

When  strangers  part  they  hope  to  meet, 

And  so,  my  friend,  did  I; 
But  souls  close  knit  go  silent  forth 

To  meet  not  till  they  die. 

And  so  I  smiled,  and  said  good-by, 
And  let  tears  have  their  will ; 

And  so  you  stood  as  white  as  death, 
And  kissed  me,  and  was  still. 


Peg  Away 

If  the  world  is  hard  to  meet, 
Don't  expect  to  find  things  sweet, 
Have  a  smile  that  can't  be  beat, 
And  peg  away. 

If  you've  worked  to  make  it  go, 
And  blue  ribbons  come  in  slow, 
Whistle  loud  as  you  can  blow, 
And  peg  away. 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 77 

The  Piper 

"Pipe!     Pipe!" 

I  piped  and  the  children  danced, 
Their  light  feet  tripped  in  glee. 

Not  a  bird  so  gay 

As  my  pipe  this  May, 
And  the  children,  airy  free. 

Their  ribbon  bands  and  hair  flew  wild, 
Their  light  feet  touched  the  lea 

Like  fairy  things 

Upborne  by  wings 
And  the  magic  minstrelsy. 

"Pipe!     Pipe!" 

Their  elders  cried  aloud, 

"He  pipes  all  grief  away. 

'Tis  a  blessed  thing 

For  one's  heart  to  sing. 

Pipe!     Pipe!" 
But  my  heart  had  died  that  May. 


The  Plant 

Give  me  a  place  for  my  roots  to  grow 

Down  through  the  rich,  thick  soil  below. 

Let  me  feel  about  me  firm  and  sure 

A  soil  that  upholds  me,  that  will  endure! 

I  am  only  a  poor  transplanted  thing 

With  my  roots  chocked  up  in  a  nursery-pot, 

Give  me  a  soil  of  mine  own  secure. 

My  gardener,  pause  in  passing  by! 

See,  my  leaves  and  buds  have  found  a  sky; 

And  my  roots  would  find  them  a  place  to  hold 

Firm  and  strong  in  the  kindly  mould. 

Can  I  give  thee  bloom,  and  my  roots  unfed, 

Starving  for  soil  in  this  nursery- pot? 

Give  me  soil !    For  my  roots  are  my  life,  behold ! 


78 JOHN  O'  DREAMS 

Playmates 

To  the  open  gates  of  heaven 
The  baby  angels  stray, 
The  golden  light  of  setting  suns 
On  the  wing-folded  little  ones, 
And  watch  upon  the  twilight  earth 
The  other  children  play. 

The  little  brothers  of  the  earth 
Look  young-eyed  at  the  skies, 
And  love  the  cuddling  clouds  of  gold, 
The  baby  angels  wings  onfold, 
And  know  not  that  their  playtime 
Is  lit  by  angels'  eyes. 

Pluck 

The  woods,  as  for  a  festival, 
In  gorgeous  gowns  are  dressed. 

They  smile  like  queens.     Not  so  they  smiled 
When  summer-time  caressed. 

Men  see  them  robed  in  scarlet, 

In  Eastern  silks  bedight. 
But  I  have  wept.     Brave  woods,  I  know 

Your  summer  fled  last  night. 

The  Prodigal 

The  frogs  are  droning, 

The  mill-dam  moaning, 
The  fire-flies  flaunting  their  flickering  lamp. 

No  star  is  lighted, 

The  sunset's  blighted, 
And  over  me  falls  the  evening  damp. 

The  stream  is  sliding 

Where  bats  are  hiding, 
Now  fades,  now  flushes  a  fire  in  camp. 

Through  life  I've  wandered, 

My  chances  squandered, 
And  drag  on  chilled  by  the  evening  damp: 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 


The  Promise 

I  promised,  leaving  home,  the  world  before  me  wide, 

To  know  each  day  you  loved  and  understood, 

So  looked  on  life  and  work,  and  found  it  good. 

But  oftentimes  I  cried 

For  you  were  far,  and  oh,  the  world  was  wide. 

I  promised  you,  when  last  we  came  to  part, 

I'd  know  your  love  and  prayers  were  with  me  yet 

No  matter  whitherward  your  feet  were  set 

In  vast  eternity. 

But  it  is  vast;  so  it  must  sometimes  be 

I  cry  for  you  with  empty,  homesick  heart. 

The  Prospector 

You've  heard  of  the  Captain,  straight  as  a  string 

Of  body  and  too  of  heart, 

Hearty  and  hale  at  seventy-six, 

A  pioneer  from  the  start. 

He  knew  Socorro,  New  Mexico, 

'Twas  his  old  stamping  ground, 

The  Mogollon  mountains.     His  mines  were  there, 

And  there  his  body  was  found. 

For  the  call  of  the  heart  is  the  mountains 

If  once  you  have  known  them  well, 

The  cold,  bare  mountains  that  mount  to  heaven, 

And  can  be  cruel  as  hell. 

The  Captain  was  old.     He  had  earned  his  spurs. 

The  Governor  honored  his  name. 

He  was  mayor  and  State  legislator 

And  regent.     He'd  won  in  the  game. 

He  had  money  and  honor  and  everything  good, 

But  he  knew  where  his  good  came  from, 

And  when  the  Mogollon  mountains  called 

He  saddled  Jerry  and  Tom, 

And  went  to  the  inaccessible  heights, 

Just  as  the  right  man  should, 

With  those  two  horses  to  carry  his  pack 

And  make  him  comrades  good. 


80 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

The  first  week  out  he  was  lucky, 

And  then  his  troubles  began — 

They  found  the  notes  strapped  to  the  saddle  horn. 

Jerry  stuck  by  like  a  man 

Starving  in  grass  a-plenty 

On  the  heights  of  Turkey  creek, 

Where  his  master  had  perished  three  months  before, 

And  his  comrade.     A  stone  loosed.     Quick 

Tom  shot  down  into  the  canyon 

And  was  just  a  broken  heap. 

But  Jerry  must  wait  for  the  Captain, 

And  nibble  and  shiver  and  sleep. 

So  they  found  the  story  how  he  died  game 

Writ  out  steady  and  clear, 

With  never  a  straggle,  till  the  very  last  page 

When  death  had  come  too  near 

For  a  man  to  quite  think  and  write  as  well 

As  maybe  a  whole  man  should. 

But  the  Captain  looked  old  death  in  the  eyes 

And  he  fought  his  last  fight  good. 

"I  tried  to  get  down  into  Brushy — 

I  tried  to  get  out  again." 

That  took  two  days.     And  the  writing 

And  the  meaning  too  was  plain. 

"The  horses  balked  up  the  canyon, 

But  we  made  it  with  half  a  load. 

Got  to  the  top  with  panniers. 

Went  back  for  the  bedding  stowed. 

Lost  our  trail  because  Tom  was  hungry 

And  crashed  down  the  cliff  with  a  shock. 

So  we  cut  him  loose.     It  was  pitch  black  night, 

And  we  made  us  a  bed  of  rock. 

There  were  lots  of  rocks  and  bushes. 

The  morning  would  show  us  clear, 

So  we  slept  that  night  with  Tom  let  loose 

And  Jerry  bridled  near. 

"In  the  morning  I  fixed  the  pack  up 
And  led  Jerry  up  to  the  top. 


A  Road  by  Lake  Superior 


A  Wayfarer 
Page  109 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 81 

But  it  tuckered  me  out.    I  was  famished  for  thirst 
And  so  I  had  to  stop. 

"Next  day  I  started  for  water, 

But  a  precipice  made  me  turn  back. 

There  was  grass,  so  I  unsaddled  Jerry. 

And  then  as  the  night  had  got  black 

I  made  me  a  fire  and  rested. 

The  horse  had  been  right  sure  enough 

When  he'd  tried  to  go  back.     For  we'd  slept  out 

Within  twenty  yards  of  our  stuff. 

"I  woke  up  next  day  all  used  up. 

I  tried  but  I  couldn't  eat  bread. 

I  got  some  sugar  and  tried  it, 

Then  sucked  some  tablets  instead. 

I'll  try  to  put  the  saddle  on  Jerry, 

And  get  back  to  the  trail  somewhere  near. 

We  must  find  our  way  down  to  get  water, 

I'd  hate  to  have  him  left  here. 

We'll  put  in  to-night  on  the  mountains — 

Six  days  we  have  been  without  drink — 

In  the  morning  we'll  start  for  the  water. 

God  be  with  me!     You  scarcely  would  think 

How  I  shouted  to-day  half  my  voice  out, 

'Help!  help!'     But  my  throat's  pretty  dry — 

In  some  camp  I  smelt  fresh  meat  on  cooking, 

The  smell  came — but  not  a  reply. 

"The  next  day  I  got  down — 'twasn't  easy — 

And  went  crash  right  into  a  pool. 

It  started  to  rain.     It  kept  at  it 

Two  days  and  two  nights.     It  grew  cool. 

No  place  for  a  bed,  and  wet  matches 

So  no  fire.     Cold  and  wet  to  the  core. 

Heard  the  bell  where  Jerry  was  hobbled 

The  first  night.     But  hear  it  no  more. 

I'll  try  to  get  out  in  the  morning. 

They're  the  worst,  these  two  days  and  nights. 

"Well,  it's  morning.     The  sun  is  let  in. 
I  feel  better—" 


82 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

He  writes 

Just  that  much  and  no  further — 
He  got  out  the  same  as  he  tried, 
For  he  heeded  the  call  of  the  mountains, 
And  there  in  the  mountains  he  died. 


The  Public  School  Teacher 

The  city's  arc-lights  are  companions; 

They  shine  from  the  dark  outside, 
And  show  where  gather  home-circles 

So  happy,  far  and  wide. 

Save  for  them  I'm  alone  in  my  bedroom 

And  the  silence  seems  a  din 
Of  phantom  voices  calling 

Who  have  been  or  should  be  my  kin. 

Sweet  voices,  I  hear  you  calling, 

But  can  you  not  understand 
That  my  woman's  heart  you  are  breaking 

Finds  her  children  in  this  land? 

Most  of  my  children  are  aliens, 

Most  of  them  shy  and  poor, 
With  hearts  that  beat  high  with  ambition 

And  courage  stout  to  endure. 

And  some  one  must  love  these  children 

In  the  circles  far  and  wide, 
Must  give  them  the  heart  of  a  woman, 

Not  alien  and  not  untried. 

For  they  must  grow  up  to  men's  stature 
In  this  country  that  needs  their  best. 

So  voices,  I  beg  you  be  silent, 
My  children  will  call  me  blest. 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 83 

The  Question 

A  bitter  day, 

Cold  and  gray, 

With  madcap  wind 

That  whips  the  bay, 

And  lashes  the  foam. 
Is  it  too  a  heart,  barred  out  from  home 

In  the  depths  of  lake, 

Driven  hither  and  yon  on  this  world  of  bay 
On  its  harried,  uncertain,  wreck-strewn  way, 
When  to  me,  as  I  see  it  reach  and  crawl, 
Licking  its  lips  on  the  seaward  wall, 
It  seems  the  vampire  demon  of  all? 

There  are  humans  so  like  it — 

Who  can  say? 


The  Recompense 

Why  made  Thou  me  immortal?     In  my  pain 

One  only  boon  I  ask,  oblivion ! 

The  shackles  of  my  immortality, 

O  God,  remove.     Let  me  lie  down  and  die. 

But  calmed  by  night  and  stars;  by  this  clear  mind 
That  thinks  great  thoughts  for  me  and  shows  me  Good ; 
Though  bowed  with  pain,  and  faint  with  emptiness, 
Yet  would  I  thank  thee  for  this  deathless  boon. 
For  I  have  been,  and  am,  and  yet  shall  be, 
And  courage  have  to  go  my  endless  way, 
Nor  weakly  ask  release.     I  run  the  risk 
Of  godlike  pain  to  think  these  godlike  thoughts. 
For  what  is  pain  if  I  may  find  out  Truth? 


Remembered 

I  found  a  fair  shell  on  the  sandy  shore 
Where  'twas  left  by  the  ebbing  sea. 

I  took  it  away  from  the  ocean's  roar, 
And  carried  it  home  with  me. 


84 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

The  shell  though  had  hidden  within  its  heart 
What  it  heard  where  the  breakers  swell. 

It  murmurs  this  still,  though  so  far  apart, 
This  song  that  it  loves  so  well. 


Reported  Missing 

Eternal  Father,  hast  Thou  taken  him 
And  does  he  wait  for  me  in  Paradise, 

The  old  dear  welcome  in  his  hearty  hand, 
The  glad  beam  in  his  eyes? 

He  comes  to  me  at  morning  and  at  noon, 
And  evenings  when  I  bend  me  o'er  the  Book 

The  tears  fall  down  upon  the  swimming  page 
Before  that  old-time  look. 


Dear  one,  where  art  thou? 
I  would  find  thee 
In  all  this  world  of  change, 
Bloody  with  carnage ; 
In  all  the  heavens, 
Deafened  with  shrapnel 
Deafened  to  supplication, 
There  would  my  spirit  range ; 
Speak  where  thou  art. 

Tell  me  what  happened, 

O,  what  did  befall  thee? 

Silent,  my  sobs! 

You  drown  if  voice  there  be. 

Listen,  the  worst  would  still  be  healing. 

Was  it  worse,  or  worse,  or  worse  uncertainty? 

Baffled  I  sit. 

My  heart,  there  is  no  answer. 

But  love  is  infinite 

And  love  will  find  him. 

When  burst  from  mortal  bands 

Then  love  will  touch  him  with  her  wings  and  whisper : 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 85 

"Through  all  the  long  uncertainty  I  suffered, 

I  ached  for  thee,  and  oft  were  lashes  wet. 

My  life  was  all  a  prayer, 

At  last,  full  answered 

In  finding  thee,  and  knowing  all — at  last." 

Perhaps  the  enemy  will  give  him  succor, 

For  he  made  ready  friends  in  days  long  flown — 

I  have  drained  with  you  all  your  cup  of  anguish 
Whatever  it  was.     I  did  not  leave  you  lone. — 

Mind  lost  and  wand'ring? — I  am  still  your  mourner, 
I  bury  you  afresh  with  each  new  day — 

Perhaps  some  news  will  come;  he  may  be  living. 
Perhaps  his  love  at  last  will  find  a  way. — 

If  thou  had'st  died,  then  I  had  bowed  me  meekly, 
My  grief  made  calm  by  thy  sweet  paradise. 

But  now — tell  me  where  art  thou,  what  befallest, 
Tell  me — my  brain  is  dazed,  my  reason  flies. 


God,  Thou  art  good!     I  beg  Thee, 
Did'st  Thou  note  the  sparrow's  fall, 
My  sparrow's  fall ! 


Resolve 

I  have  not  tried 
And  so  I  have  not  failed ; 

But  better  were  it 
To  have  tried  and  failed. 
To  have  gone  down  upon  the  battle-field 
With  blood  warm  gushing  from  my  side, 
The  smell  of  it  in  my  face, 

Than  thus  whole-limbed  to  stand 
and  not  have  tried. 


86 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

But  I  will  try, 
I  will  not  meekly  yield, 

I'll  from  the  front 
With  dents  upon  my  shield. 
If  I  but  wrest  defeat,  no  voice  shall  scoff: 
"A  lady's  chamber  sort  of  knight," 
The  truth  of  it  in  my  blush, 
My  vanquishment  costs  dear, 
for  I  will  try. 

The  Robin's  Question 

A  robin  came  over  the  grass, 
Alit  with  the  dying  day; 

The  spring  had  come, 

The  rain  was  done, 
And  his  heart  was  glad  with  May. 

Why  should  one  stand  so  mute? 
He  stopped  and  a  wonder  gave. 

The  spring  had  come, 

The  rain  was  done. 
But  I  stood  by  a  new-made  grave. 

The  Robin's  Song 

The  robin  has  a  song  to  sing, 

A  merry  song. 
And  though  the  blust'ring  days  of  March 

Are  very  long, 
He  sturdy  sits  with  folded  wing 

Upon  the  bough, 
And  reasserts,  "It  will  be  spring 

Before  long  now!" 

The  Rockies 

Through  wasted  habitations, 

Iron  shod, 
The  sons  of  men  have  found  thee. 

Hills  of  God! 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 87 

And  eyes,  beholding  once, 

Forget  the  clod, 
And  steadfast  fix  upon  thee, 

Hills  of  God! 

And  hearts  that  stay  on  thee 

As  on  a  rod, 
Cry  out:     "Our  help  ariseth, 

Hills  of  God!" 

Romance 

I  love  him  so  well  I  am  happy, 

Robin,  atilt  on  the  bough, 
You  wove  the  tale  into  the  measures 

Swelling  your  bosom  just  now. 

I  love  him  so  well,  pretty  blossoms, 

Lavishing  bloom  on  the  tree, 
The  glory-crown  of  the  gnarled  orchard — 

Just  that  his  love  is  to  me. 

I  love  him  so  well  I  am  happy, 

Dainty  clouds  floating  above; 
You  are  gladsome  and  light  in  the  sunshine, 

So  is  my  heart  in  his  love. 

Sated 

O,  little  morning  line  of  pines 
Against  a  silver  sky, 
Yourselves  a  blinding,  silver  mist, 
Why  should  we  pass  you  by, 
But  that  at  dawn  so  much  is  fair 
We  never  question  why. 

At  even  you're  in  ragged  black 

Against  an  eastern  gray 

That  catches  up  a  purple  tinge 

From  the  blood-red  set  of  day; 

But  we've  seen  so  much  of  ragged  black 

We  turn  our  eyes  away. 


88 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

The  Scar 

The  scar  in  my  heart  has  grown  together; 

It  once  was  an  ugly  wound, 
With  jagged  edges.     I  thought  it  never 

Could  heal  over  well  and  sound. 

But  I  carry  the  scar.     All  men  may  see  it: 

The  curious  question  why ; 
The  scarred  look  away,  blind,  mute,  albeit 

They  forget  not  their  own — nor  I. 


The  Setting  Star 

The  star  and  the  moon  went  down  the  sky 

In  the  ray  less  dark  where  all  things  die, 

And  I  watched  how  calmly  their  way  they  went 

Their  steep  dark  course  in  the  firmament. 

I  had  looked  on  death.     It  had  entered  my  soul. 

It  had  left  its  hurt.     But  the  star  shone  so 

I  knew  what  mortal  scarce  dare  to  know, 

How  His  star  on  its  aeon  course  could  roll, 

And  I  could  go  forth  and  possess  my  soul. 


Soldiers  All 

I  stood  beside  my  mother's  door 
To  watch  the  troops  march  by, 

And  gaily  waved  my  hand  at  him 
Because  I  would  not  cry. 

He  had  to  go.     His  heart  was  lead, 
He  scarcely  raised  his  eye. 

And  so  I  waved  and  Bruno  barked — 
It  had  been  worse  to  cry. 

The  news  has  come :  the  fight  is  ours, 

But  few  men  had  to  die. 
And  Bruno  mutely  looks  at  me — 

What  good  were  it  to  cry! 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 89 

The  Song  of  the  Birch 

The  song  of  the  birch ! 
Its  delicate  leaves, 
Its  delicate  dreamings; 
Its  fair  maiden  form, 
Its  pure  maiden  fancies; 
Its  finger-tips  white 
Caressing  the  breezes. 
'Tis  lisping  its  secret, 
The  song  of  the  birch. 

"Pure  white  I  stand 
With  the  dark  firs  around  me. 
Light  on  the  sand, 
Light  on  the  sea, 
Light  on  the  sky, 
But  no  light  for  me. 

"Here  close  beside  me 
Grows  a  dark  fir  tree. 
Vibrant  his  needles 
Are  sighing;  and  she, 
A  graceful,  young  balsam, 
Is  deaf  to  his  pleadings. 
The  fir  and  the  balsam 
I  weep,  and  their  pain. 
Why  loved  Wemotongwah 
The  brave  not  again ! 

"Gay  as  a  bird 
Singing  at  dawn, 

Gay  as  a  boat 
Skimming  the  water; 

Child  of  a  chief, 

Loved  of  a  brave, 

Fair  Wemotongwah ! 

"There  sped  in  a  boat 
From  far  o'er  the  water 
A  white  man  with  love 
For  the  fair  Wemotongwah. 


90    JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

And  she  gave  her  heart 
Lest  he  fade  on  denial 
Like  the  wraith  in  the  fall 
Of  the  quenched  forest  fires. 

"Hand  clasped  in  hand, 

Eyes  reading  eyes, 

The  lovers  would  stand 

For  hours  in  my  shadow. 

Fair  as  myself 

Were  the  hearts  of  the  lovers. 

He  was  a  man 

With  a  face  pale  as  mine, 

With  forehead  as  white 

And  fancies  as  fair. 

Fair  as  myself 

The  pure-hearted  stranger; 

Dark  as  the  firs 

The  shy  Wemotongwah. 

"But  the  chief 

Loved  the  brave, 

Loved  the  dark,  moaning  fir  tree. 

Gave  ear  to  his  plaint; 

Gave  word  to  the  birch, 

Who  loved  Wemotongwah : 
'Get  thee  hence 
Or  taste  death ! 
May  the  Manitou  curse  thee, 
Thou  treacherous  pale-face, 
Thou  fawner,  betrayer, 
Thou  robber  of  red  men ! 
The  fawn  of  our  forest 
Thou  draggest  away 
With  evil  enchantments, 
The  fawn  of  our  forest 
That  slept  in  my  bosom. 
Get  thee  hence 
Ere  I  slay! 
The  child  of  my  body, 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 91 

The  son  of  my  choosing, 
Wilt  thou  wrong  and  destroy? 
May  the  Manitou  curse  thee, 
The  Manitou  mighty, 
The  God  of  the  red  men! 
His  bow-cord  draw  on  thee, 
His  sharp  arrows  bite  thee, 
His  hand  be  against  thee, 
His  mighty  heart  curse! 
Thou  robber  of  red  men, 
The  Manitou  curse  thee! 
Get  thee  hence 
To  thy  death!' 

"Ah,  the  chief 

Loved  the  brave, 

Loved  the  dark,  moaning  fir  tree. 

Gave  ear  to  his  plaint 

Gave  fair  Wemotongwah 

In  promise  to  him, 

When  her  soul 

Clave  in  love 

To  the  pure-hearted  stranger. 

"Then  they  stood  here  by  me, 
The  man  and  the  maid, 
The  birch  and  the  fir  tree, 
They  stood  here  by  me — 
Ah!  how  can  I  tell  it? 
Their  death-song  they  chanted — 
No  light  on  the  sea! 

"Dead,  dead! 
Gray  and  cold  the  waves, 
Ashen  gray  the  driftwood 

On  the  shore. 
Gray  the  froth  that  laves 

And  cold  the  cry, 

'No  more!     No  more!' 


92 JOHN  O'   DREAMS 

"Dead,  dead! 
Glad  were  human  hearts, 
Frighted  gray  were  waves  that 

Closed  them  o'er. 
Gray  the  death-song  starts 
From  breasts  long  cold, 

'No  more!     No  more!' 

"Ah,  shy  Wemotongwah, 
The  Manitou  heard  thee. 
His  heart  turned  with  grace 
To  the  pure-hearted  lover; 
His  heart  turned  with  love 
To  the  race  of  the  stranger. 

"The  fir  trees  are  fallen, 
The  birches  are  standing 
Alone  and  encompassed 
By  pitiless  waste. 
The  white  men  have  risen — 
The  Manitou  leads  them — 
The  red  men  have  perished. 
Who  knoweth  their  place? 

The  braves  are  departed, 
The  chief  and  the  council, 
The  wigwams  are  empty, 
The  campfires  are  white. 
The  trails  are  deserted, 
The  strong  bows  are  rotted, 
The  red  men  forgotten 
Like  dreams  of  the  night. 

"The  wild  folk  have  hidden, 
The  frighted  game  scattered, 

The  fowl  flown  afar; 
The  young  ferns  and  wild-flowers 
Are  torn  by  the  ploughshare; 
The  great  waves  have  bowed  them ; 

The  stranger  race  sways. 


JOHN   O'   DREAMS 


"The  Manitou  wills  it! 
The  fir  trees  are  fallen, 
The  birches  are  standing; 
Men  fade  at  his  bidding, 

The  Manitou  bides." 

Song  of  the  Rocks 

Poor  human  thing! 

You  have  so  short  a  space  to  live! 

I  sit  here  with  my  river  mists 

Wrapped  round  about  me 

These  hundred  aeons 

And  watch  your  human  tide 

Roll  at  my  feet. 

Poor  human  thing! 

You  laugh  and  gayly  go  your  way 

Along  the  sands 

For  just  your  little  hour. 

And  I — I  sit  and  think 

A  countless  age ; 

No  gladness  leaps  within  mine  eyes, 

For  well  I  know 

That  life  is  short 

And  solemn  as  all  time, 

Poor  human  thing! 

A  Son's  Pledge 

I  feel  myself  honored  to  bear  the  name 
Of  honest  men  as  my  heritage; 

I  give  you  my  word  to  keep  it  from  blame 
And  pass  it  clean  to  the  coming  age. 

Sorrow 

Dame  Sorrow  sat  at  home  with  me, 
A  gruesome  spectre  at  my  side, 

And  clutched  my  bone  with  clammy  claws, 
And  glared  with  dead  eyes  petrified. 


94 JOHN   O'   DREAMS 

I  fled  daft  Sorrow  to  the  throng. 

My  eyeballs  smarted,  strained  to  see, 
But  sight  was  holden.     For  there  were 

The  eyes  of  Sorrow  fixed  on  me. 

The  throng  was  not.     I  turned  my  steps, 
Breathed  hot  behind  her  stifling  breath, 

I  swung  the  door  to  let  her  in, 
And  cold  as  ashes,  housed  with  Death. 


The  Soul  Set  Free 

There  is  blood  on  my  hands,  and  its  scent  in  my  face. 
Take  it  from  me!     I  faint.     Back,  I  pray  you,  give 
place ! 

Oh !     I  see  your  fangs,  and  your  fetid  breath 

Has  a  stench  like  my  hands.   Back,  I  cry  you,  Death! 

I  stumble,  I  grope.     Let  me  feel  about. 

Can  a  man  walk  sure  when  the  lights  are  out? 

But  the  lights  are  out.     Do  you  tell  me?     Hark! 
No  lights  forever,  aye  naught  but  dark? 

And  me  to  grope  through  black  palled  lands, 
With  always  the  stench  of  blood  on  my  hands? 

And  what  have  I  done?    Great  God!    I  shall  scream. 
There  is  blood,  and  the  stench.     Let  me  know  it  a 
dream. 

What  are  men  I  should  care  for  their  blood  and  their 

cries? 
Take  the  stench  from  my  nostrils,  the  pall  from  my 

eyes ! 


And  the  blood?    What  mean  you?   "Your  hands  are 

white. 
The  stench  is  your  own.     Look!     You're  bathed  in 

light." 


JOHN   O'   DREAMS 95 

I  shall  scream  till  I  snap  the  strings  of  my  voice. 
Stop  that  madness  of  Heaven  made  Hell  by  my  choice. 

Great  God!    Though  I  rave  shall  I  never  be  free? 
Then  this  horror  is  Heaven?     This  Hell  it  is  me? 

This  Hell  it  is  me,  and  the  All-Pure  has  seen 
Me  as  filthy  as  spew,  who  thought  myself  clean. 

It  is  me.     O,  Creator,  I  grovel,  I  cry, 

I  have  waked  to  my  rot.     Let  me  die,  let  me  die. 

Stars  in  the  Dark 

We  cannot  look  upon  his  face  and  live; 

We  sit  in  darkness;  we  are  mortal  men. 

But  life  and  death  grasp  hold  us,  now  and  then, 

And  make  us  know  what  one  time  he  shall  give. 

Beyond  the  bounded  walls  of  this  mean  room 

I  look  into  the  silence  of  the  night 

Where  God's  great  stars  shine  luminously  bright. 

I  look  and  know.     I  am  not  left  in  gloom. 

The  deathlike  dark  from  silences  of  space 

Crept  to  our  heart  and  made  us  sore  afraid. 

But  God  remembered  us  his  hand  had  made 

And  stars  came  crowding,  till  the  dark  gave  place. 

We  loved  each  other,  and  you  fell  on  sleep. 
My  love  yearns  to  you  glad,  so  hurt  below, 
And  feels — your  love!     He  gives  my  soul  to  know, 
His  dead  shall  live, — the  depths  of  Love  are  deep ! 


A  Sugar  Snow 

Tweet  and  tweet! 

Tweet  and  tweet ! 
Snow  and  slush  is  on  the  street, 
Slush  and  snow,  snow  and  sleet. 

Spring  is  winter. 

Tweet  and  tweet. 


96 JOHN   O'   DREAMS 

Cheer-e-o ! 

Cheer-e-o ! 

This  is  just  a  sugar  snow. 
Snows  like  these  make  full  saps  flow. 

Saps  make  sugar. 

Cheer-e-o ! 

Summer  is  Over 

The  reapers  are  gone  from  the  hills, 
The  cows  stalk  by  with  the  drover, 
The  crickets  are  singing  at  noon, 
And  summer  is  over. 

The  birds  are  leaving  the  woods, 
Brown  is  the  buckwheat  and  clover, 
A  golden  haze  lies  over  all, 
And  summer  is  over. 

And  I  stand  alone  in  the  fields, 
I  who  have  been  but  a  rover, 
And  dream  of  the  golden  days, 
Now  summer  is  over! 

Sunday  Morn 

That  Sunday  morn  when  you  arose  and  went 
Out  toward  the  Dawn,  and  left  behind  the  dark, 
And  dew-weighed  buds,  and  birds  that   stopped  to 

hark, 

Your  face  alight  with  measureless  content, 
A  benediction  fell  on  us,  release 
From  earth,  that  made  us  know  in  part 
What  you  knew  face  to  Face,  and  heart  to  Heart, 
For  God  had  passed  that  way  and  left  His  holy  peace. 

Sympathy 

The  night  is  full  of  blackness 
With  scarce  the  faintest  star, 

And  here  and  there  a  houselight 
Shows  dimly  from  afar. 


'In  the  deep  of  Northland  winter" 


The  Word  Was  God 


JOHN  O'   DREAMS 97 

A  heavy  mist  is  settling, 

A  mist  as  thick  as  rain, 
There's  something  in  this  darkness 

That  is  akin  to  pain. 

And  in  your  eyes  this  morning 

I  saw  the  shadows  lie; 
This  darkness  seems  so  like  it, 

And  yet  I  know  not  why. 


A  Tale  of  Clover 

A  flush  spread  itself  o'er  the  cheek  of  the  clover. 
"You  want  to  take  care,"  said  the  breeze  passing  over. 

"You're  too  fragrant  a  thing. 

There's  a  bee  on  the  wing. 

You  beware!    You  take  care!    For  I  know;    I'm  a 
rover." 

The  bee  whispered  low,  "He  is  years  and  years  older; 
We  are  young;  you  are  sweet."     Then  he  droned, 

growing  bolder 
As  she  hung  her  fair  head, 
"You're  so  sweet  that  I  sped 

To  be  near,  to  be  here."    And  she  drank  all  he  told 
her! 


There  Shall  be  Light 

(When  three  of  my  boys  were  taken,  Hugh  Mills, 
James  Calhoun,  Ralph  French.) 

Learners  are  we  together  in  Earth's  schoolroom, 

My  boys  and  girls,  no  teacher  there  am  I. 

The  problems  life  and  death  have  set  before  us 

I  face,  as  you,  with  but  an  aching,  Why: 

Bricks    without    straw;    the    bruised    reeds    roughly 

broken ; 

The  laborers  gone,  and  fields  with  harvest  white. 
But  this  I  know:  when  we  reach  Heaven's  stature 
Our  eyes  shall  see  how  everything  was  right. 


98  JOHN   O'   DREAMS 


Three  Poems 

The  spring  was  touched  by  death, 

All  the  green,  all  the  sheen, 

All  the  sunshine  and  young  flowers, 

All  the  evanescent  bloom  of  practical  fruit-trees, 

The  pink  mist  of  useful  peach  sprouts, 

All  was  dead. 

The  sun  fell  to  glare,  to  kill  the  sight,  and  blind — 

Not  to  warm. 

It  fell  upon  a  leveled  gravel  length 

On  the  trampled  green  sod, 

The  dead  gravel  length  of  one  dead. 

And  so  since  her  life  went  out,  who  gave  me  life — 
How  could  her  life  go  out  who  had  life  to  give  to  me? 
And  I  powerless  to  lend  her  one  least  minute 
Of  my  empty  years  to  come! 
So,  since  her  life  went  out,  the  spring  went  out; 
And  hope,  and  all  the  world  went  out  for  me. 

Unto  my  fartherest  days  my  eyes  shall  see 

The  waving  of  that  pink  bough  of  apricot 

Lifted  by  the  warm  spring  air  above  her, 

She  in  the  darkness  of  death, 

The  flowers  in  the  sun. 

I  liked  to  feel  so  little  much  of  sun 

Touched  that  that  rested  o'er  her  silence. 

I  could  n'ot  go  with  her. 

She  had  gone  all  the  cold  regal  way  of  death  alone. 

Nor  signified  that  I  might  come. 

I  waited  on  in  some  lorn  anteroom 

For  no  one  brought  me  word 

This  majesty  would  see  me, 

And  I,  a  poor  dumb  slave, 

Knew  not  their  stately  ways 

In  dread  imperial  palaces — 

I  knew  only  my  rudely  human  home, 

Where  this  cold  majesty,  who  spoke  no  word  to  me, 


JOHN   O'   DREAMS 99 

Had  been  my  mother's  bosom, 

Her  arms  about  me,  and  her  lips  to  my  tear-wet  cheeks, 

Soothing  my  so  small  griefs 

That  my  dead  heart  smiled  at  them, 

Babes  of  a  petty  kingdon,  himself 

Transfigured  kingly  like  her  majesty. 

And  then  'twould  serge  o'er  me 

That  this  cold  palace  and  imperial  majesty 

That  spoke  no  word,  nor  gave  no  sign  to  me, 

Was  nothing,  as  my  nervous,  twisting  hands  were 

nothings 

And  my  dead  heart,  and  all  my  fleshy  self. 
The  only  real  things 
In  this  universe  of  quick  and  dead, 
Quick  bodies  and  dead  corpses, 
Were  not  these  same  things,  bodies,  quick  or  dead, 
But  only  she  and  I,  my  mother  and  myself, 
And  our  great  love — our  love 
That  loved  in  life,  and  loved  in  death, 
And  knew  nor  life  nor  death,  but  only  love. 

And  then  I  bowed  my  lips  and  touched 
The  velvet  hap  that  mantled  her  about, 
With  lips  of  blessings. 

To  a  Dog 

Old  dog,  with  the  kind  brown  eyes, 
Have  you  a  soul?     How  do  you  live? 
What  do  you  know  of  life  and  death? 
And  duty?     For  you  do  yours! 
I  do  not  know! 
I  ask,  but  you  cannot  tell. 
A  gulf  is  fixed  which  we  cannot  cross 
•  To  talk  about  these  things 
Together,  God's  creatures,  you  and  I. 
But  one  thing  you  tell,  so  I  know  you  know, 
And  you  know  that  I  know  it  too. 
We  know  one  thing  together 
We  can  speak  of  to  each  other — 
Love!     Old  dog,  with  the  kind  brown  eyes. 


100 JOHN   O'   DREAMS 

To  Each  His  Burden 

I  loved  you  so! 
But  I  could  not  keep 
Your  lips  from  kissing  pain: 
You  toiled  deep  in  the  valley, 
You  wandered  in  the  rain, 
You  knew  life's  ache  and  labor— 
You  died  as  did  our  neighbor — 
And  I,  who  loved  you  so, 
Could  only  see  you  stumble — 
Could  only  see  you  die. 
And  O,  I  loved  you  so! 


To  Mother  on  My  Birthday 

This  was  the  day  your  dear  eyes  shone 

On  a  mite  of  humanity  all  your  own. 

And  I'm  thankful  today  and  my  whole  life  through 

For  your  gift  of  life,  and  God's  gift  of  you. 


To  Mozart 

Once  a  bird  which  had  winged  from  summer-time 

Was  far  in  the  north  away, 
But  he  merrily  sang  mid  the  frost  and  rime 

A  happy  roundelay. 

And  he  cheered  all  hearts  with  his  merry  rhyme 

Of  sunshine  like  strands  of  gold. 
And  he  sang  till  the  love  of  the  summer-time 

Was  known  in  northlands  cold. 

But  the  heart  of  the  bird  was  choked  with  pain, 

He  loved  not  the  frost  and  rime. 
But  he  sang  his  loved  song  o'er  and  o'er  again, 

The  song  of  summer-time. 


JOHN  O'   DREAMS     101 

To  Mr.  Merryman 

It  was  a  little  woodland  plant 
That  blossomed  from  the  mould, 

When  every  springtime  bush  was  white 
And  hillsides  were  pure  gold. 

To  a  heart  that  loved  the  woodland  things 
Did  that  little  plant  unfold. 

A  little  bird  in  winter  sang 

Amid  the  deep  white  cold 
Some  straggling,  shy,  untutored  notes, 

Which  no  poet's  verses  hold. 
To  a  heart  that  loved  the  woodland  things 

Was  the  crude  bird's  story  told. 

Will  plant  and  bird,  the  woodland  things, 

Know  that  their  friend  is  gone? 
And  will  they  know  of  death  the  things 

We  humans  ponder  on? 
Or  will  they  see  with  truer  eyes 

That  heart  and  Nature  one? 

For  his  feet  have  found  the  lonesome  trail 
Where  all  great  souls  have  trod, 

That  leads  from  out  our  woodland  ways 
To  those  high  fields  of  God, 

Where  he  may  learn  the  psalm  of  life 
From  star  choir  and  from  clod. 

All  flowers  shall  bloom,  all  birds  shall  sing, 

And  God  shall  hear  each  one; 
And  their  friend  shall  listen  close  to  Him 

From  those  fields  where  he  is  gone, 
Till  his  heart  shall  grow  to  abounding  love 

So  he  may  serve  at  Dawn. 

Too  Plain 

There  are  secrets  the  gods  would  utter, 
So  they  whisper  them  wide  as  the  race; 

And  we  stand  appalled  with  a  hush  in  our  heart, 
And  a  wonder  in  our  face. 


102 JOHN   O'   DREAMS 

We  know  that  the  language  is  mighty ; 
We  would  learn  it  with  infinite  pain 

This  hymn  of  the  gods.     But  we  lose  it— 
Too  simple  it  is,  and  plain. 

The  Tool 

Some  gray  boats  boom  as  they  feel  their  way 

Through  the  fog  this  morning  to  harbor  or  lake. 

Last  night  was  cold, 

And  the  lake  feels  old 

For  the  lives  it  had  to  take. 

For  the  lake  is  like  the  rest  of  us 

A  tool  in  the  hands  of  fate. 


The  Tree 

O,  giant  tree  within  the  wood, 

When  I  was  a  child  you'd  stood  here  long. 

I  lean  against  you  and  I  feel 

A  something  in  you  big  and  strong. 

Have  you  not  seen  buds  ope  to  die, 
And  slim  young  trees  half-grown  that  fell, 
No  fault  of  theirs  the  blight  or  worm 
Or  lightning  stroke?     Yet,  all  is  well? 
Have  you  not  seen  the  fledglings  dead 
When  first  they  tried  a  flight  or  song? 
'Twas  not  their  fault  they  perished  so. 
Where  lies  the  right  of  all  this  wrong? 
Among  my  brothers  I  have  seen 
What  you  have  known  here  in  this  wood, 
And  I  have  cried  aloud  to  Heaven, 
While  clothed  upon  with  calm  you  stood, 
Obeying  the  law  of  blight  or  growth. 
I  would  be  strong,  too,  if  I  could. 

Old  tree,  for  you  are  full  of  years, 
What  wisdom  have  you  that  I  need, 
That  gives  you  iron-hearted  strength? 
What  perfect-balanced-justice  creed? 


JOHN   O'   DREAMS 103 

I  waited  long.     I  pressed  my  arms 
About  the  old  tree's  rugged  bark. 
It  seemed  its  life  pulse  reached  to  mine, 
It  surged  a  chant  in  minor.     Hark! 

"I  waited  in  sunshine, 

I  waited  in  midnight, 

I  waited  to  know. 

The  stars  looked  upon  me, 

Young  life  bloomed  about  me, 

Death's  mystery  touched  me — 

Yet  why  was  it  so? 

I  waited  to  know. 

"Then  deep  through  the  stillness 
Whence  time  is  unscrolled, 
A  silence  fell  on  me, 
That  strook  on  my  heart-strings 
And  Sinii-like  rolled : 

"'Be  still  and  know  that  I  am  God, 

I  am  the  great  I  Am, 

Be  still  and  know. 

Sunshine  and  winter  midnight, 

Life  and  death — and  death  shall  make  you  know 

That  God  is  love. 

Ye  shall  be  strong  and  grow, 

The  Earth  be  yours, 

The  stars,  eternity, 

For  God  is  love, 

The  one  great  God  is  love!' 

"And  there  in  the  hush 
Of  perfected  creation, 
With  Him  passing  through, 
My  soul  bowed  in  silence, 
And  stilled.     I  knew." 


104 JOHN   O'    DREAMS 

The  Two  Workers 

The  old  man  worked  with  the  spade, 
The  young  man  worked  with  the  pen ; 

The  old  man  conquered  the  glebe, 
The  young  man  conquered  men. 

The  old  man's  face  was  glad 

With  the  dawn-light  from  on  high ; 

The  young  man's  eyes  were  dulled 
With  fogs  that  blurred  the  sky. 

For  the  harrowed  glebe  will  bud ; 

But  he  who  works  with  men 
Must  know  that  man  with  his  will 

Mars  even  the  great  God's  plan. 


Unchanged 

A  thought  slipped  out  of  my  heart, 
Just  a  human  thought,  I  know, 

But  you  were  so  tenderly  human 
When  you  lived  with  us  below. 

My  heart  comes  near  to  breaking 
In  this  empty  Time  and  Space; 

Can  it  be  you  sometimes  are  homesick 
To  look  upon  my  face? 


Understood 

Out  toward  the  hills  of  morning 
Her  certain  feet  have  trod. 

I  cannot  sense  her  vision 

From  those  high  hills  of  God. 

But  she  has  walked  my  valley, 
And  she  can  understand 

Her  child's  poor  human  stumbling 
On  through  a  weary  land. 


JOHN   O'   DREAMS  105 


Uninterpreted 

The  life  of  man  is  a  mystery, 

Transcending  caste  or  place, 
Writ  large  on  the  common  human  heart 

And  the  God-stamped  human  face. 

Our  prophets,  our  poets,  our  mothers, 

Alone  since  the  world  began, 
Have  caught  some  words  of  the  mystic  rune, 

Writ  down  in  the  heart  of  man. 

But  we  cannot  interpret  the  mystic  word, 
Though  we  know  we  are  a  part, 

For  His  thoughts  are  beyond  our  thinking 
Who  wrote  on  the  human  heart. 


The  Veil 

Far  in  the  shadow  helm  a  spirit  went, 

Heavy  of  foot  and  heavier  of  heart, 

A  summoned  culprit  forth  to  meet  the  judge. 

He  stood  at  length  amid  a  blaze  of  light 

Before  the  mighty  god  that  reads  men's  souls. 

He  dared  not  lift  his  eye,  his  frighted  heart 

Tugged  neath  the  veil  that  wrapped  him  fold  on  fold 

In  ample  garments  of  apology. 

When  would  that  voice  command  and  all  his  veil 
Fall  from  him  at  a  breath  and  leave  him  bare? 
And  what  would  hold  him  if  his  joints  gave  way 
And  he  fell  prone,  who  had  but  meant  to  clutch 
One  last  small  shred  above  his  heart  and  cry, 
"Be  merciful!     I  am  but  human!" 

Yet  since  he  could  not  scape,  and  he  who  stands  con 
fessed 

Best  stand  condemned,  he  lifted  up  his  gaze. 
The  great  god  steadfast  looked,  while  yearning  love 
And  sadness  swept  his  face.     "Son,  keep  your  veil. 
I  have  no  need  of  disillusionment, 


106 JOHN  O'   DREAMS 

For  I  have  seen  men  ever  as  they  are. 

I  knew  their  guilt,  but  even  'ere  they  sinned 

I  knew  the  tempering  apology. 

Ah,  now  you  cast  it  forth,  will  none  of  it. 

Then  keep  it  yet,  my  son,  I  gave  it  you." 

The  Vigil 

I  am  waiting  my  brave  to  come. 

He  went  away  on  the  track, 
And  the  storm  and  the  sleet  came  on, 

And  he  has  not  yet  come  back. 

It  was  winter  and  bitterly  cold, 

I  was  so  hungry  I  cried. 
So  he  went  away  to  hunt, 

With  his  bow  swung  at  his  side. 

I  listened  for  him  in  my  dreams, 
For  the  coming  of  his  feet, 

Till  the  bumble-bee  roamed  afield, 
And  the  clover  heads  hung  sweet. 

I  waited  as  trees  grew  gold, 
And  maize  was  hard  in  the  ear; 

Waited  till  fields  turned  brown, 
And  the  first  snow-flake  was  here. 

I  have  waited  so  long,  so  long, 
That  the  lake  lies  frozen  and  stark, 

And  the  pines,  in  the  chilling  wind, 
Wail  as  they  sway  in  the  dark. 

And  sometimes  now  in  the  night, 

When  the  wind  and  the  moon  are  out, 

I  see  his  shadow  fall  on  the  snow, 
And  hear  his  foot  about. 

I  creep  from  my  bed  to  the  door, 
But  the  shadow  glides  from  sight 

Down  to  the  forest's  edge. 

Our  ghosts  shall  meet  some  night ! 


JOHN   O'   DREAMS 107 

Violets 

The  white  clouds  go 
Where  the  young  breezes  blow, 
And  the  tender  blades  shiver  at  my  feet; 
And  the  violets  wither.     Blue  and  sweet, 
They  withered  long  ago. 

All  my  dreams  were  true 

When  violets  were  blue; 

And  my  heart  followed  whither  dreams  had  led. 

But  the  violets  wither.     They  are  dead ; 

They  withered  long  ago. 

It  must  be  so! 

So  let  the  wild  gales  blow, 

And  the  rushing  current  quiver  in  the  night, 

And  the  violets  wither.     My  delight 

Has  withered  long  ago. 

The  Voice  of  Many 

A  sound  of  human  sorrow  comes  to  me, 

My  sisters'  voices  in  adversity: 

A  rush  of  street  slang,  empty,  hiding  well ; 

A  laugh  as  void  of  joy  as  church  of  bell, 

A  hard  bravado,  hollow,  free  of  mirth, 

That  mocks  perchance  such  hell  can  be  on  earth, 

Or  jeers  at  warned  of  horrors  that  shall  be 

When  here  one  has  endured  such  tragedy. 

The  voices  know  not  that  they  cry  to  me, 
The  saddest  cry  in  all  humanity, 
The  cry  of  those  oppressed  by  custom's  law, 
Since  "men  must  sin,"  who  fill  lust's  hungry  maw. 

Wait  Upon  the  Lord 

Wait  upon  the  Lord ! 

Grow  strong  within  His  presence ! 

Thy  years  are  in  His  hand. 

Draw  close  and  understand 

His  ways,  not  thy  ways; 

These  things  thine  eyes  demand 

Are  of  the  Earth,  His  footstool. 


108 JOHN   O'   DREAMS 

Lift  up  thine  heart!    Abide! 

Yearnings  thy  soul  doth  hide, 

Caused  He  aforetime, 

Thou  shalt  be  satisfied, 

For  He  is  God,  Almighty. 
O,  wait  upon  the  Lord ! 
Grow  strong  within  His  presence ! 

The  Water-Wheel 

The  mill  is  near  the  portage, 
Once  more  I  hear  the  sound 

Of  cold  spring  water  dripping 
As  slow  the  wheel  goes  round. 

The  ledges,  cool  and  moss-grown, 
Reach  outward  near  the  sweep. 

There  shadows  gather  thickest 
And  there  the  pool  is  deep. 

The  pond  is  dank  with  frogsbit, 
Its  stagnant  waters  doze; 

But  here  the  waters  drip  and  drip, 
Portentous  shadows  close. 

Here  where  for  generations 

The  farmers'  grists  were  ground 

E'en  in  this  country  stillness 
The  wheel  of  Fate  drips  round. 


The  Way 

It  used  to  lie  beyond  the  year 
Of  busy  days  of  work  in  school, 
A  forward  beckoning  hope  for  me, 
The  way  to  you. 

And  now  it  lies  beyond  the  years, 
The  year  on  year  of  work  in  life, 
A  forward  beckoning  hope  for  me, 
The  way  to  you. 


JOHN   O'   DREAMS 109 

A  Wayfarer 

Over  the  highway  to  you  this  morning, 
The  long- traveled  highway  to  you. 

These  pains  are  the  ruts,  this  faintness  the  dust, 
This  numbness,  the  crust  of  the  slough. 

But  I  shall  press  on,  till  my  body  is  left, 
And  my  soul  finds  itself  and  you. 


Weary 

I'd  like  to  stretch  in  clover  bloom 
And  hear  the  woodlark's  treble, 

Or  watch  the  millpond's  gossips  spread 
How  I  threw  in  a  pebble. 

I'd  hear  the  twilight  whip-poor-will 

And  full  contented  cricket; 
And  watch  the  moon's  big  bonfire  glow 

Beyond  the  hazel  thicket. 

I'd  hear  the  rockers  on  the  floor, 
The  crooning,  "Sleep,  my  dearie," 

I'd  like  to  be  at  home  and  rest; 
For  the  world  is  wide  and  weary. 


Were  I  a  Rose 

Were  I  a  rose, 

I  would  be  pressed 
Upon  a  little  waxen  breast, 
And,  angel-guarded,  droop  to  rest, 

And  so  depart. 

Were  I  a  rose, 

I'd  count  it  good 
To  catch  the  tear  of  motherhood, 
And  bear  it  safely  home  to  God 

Held  in  my  heart. 


110 JOHN   O'   DREAMS 

When  Day  is  Dead 

The  day  is  dead,  the  light  is  fled, 

The  sun's  at  rest. 
'Tis  twilight  deep,  long  shadows  creep 

Across  the  west. 

One  lone  faint  star  glows  from  afar; 

The  night-birds  cry. 
The  deep  shades  grow,  vague  outlines  show 

Against  the  sky. 

Each  sound  is  hushed.     Where  crimson  flushed 

The  sunset  skies, 
There  on  the  night  a  tinge  of  light 

In  pity  lies. 

When  day  is  dead,  the  joy  is  fled 

Of  other  years, 
Sweet  memories  rise  before  our  eyes 

Half  blind  with  tears. 


The  Wife 

The  oxen  are  home, 

They  are  free  from  the  neckyoke; 

The  frogs  greet  the  gloom 

So  incessant  it  crazes; 

The  cattle  are  resting, 

They  eat  in  the  stall; 

When  my  day's  work  is  ended 

I  rest  not  at  all. 

For  William  comes  in, 

And  the  lamps,  they  are  lighted ; 

And  a  gleam  like  a  sin 

Falls  upon  me  and  crushes 

For  William  is  William — 

It  may  be  the  light — 

And  he  too  is  another. 

It  gives  me  a  fright! 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS HI 

I  clutch  to  the  ring, 

To  the  gold  ring  he  gave  me. 

'Tis  an  unholy  thing, 

May  my  bitter  tears  shrive  me — 

For  William  is  husband 

Before  God  and  men, 

I  am  his,  I  have  pledged  it. 

But  God  knows !    What  then ! 

God  knows  'tis  a  lie. 

In  the  long  hours  of  moonlight 

I  start  with  a  cry, 

For  he  lies  there  so  silent 

That  my^flesh  creeps  with  terror, 

He  seems  like  the  dead. 

Is  the  midnight  turned  judgment? 

What's  that  I  have  said? 

For  William  had  lands 
And  bank-notes  a-plenty. 
The  church  blessed  the  bands, 
And  I'm  sure  I  consented. 
No  wife  is  more  faithful, 
And  he  does  not  know. 
My  parents  had  willed  it. 
Oh !     I  told  Bob  to  go. 

For  William  had  lands 

And  bank-notes  a-plenty; 

And  Bob  had  his  hands 

And  his  love — Gracious  Heaven! 

And  I  swore  to  forget  it — 

I  know  I'm  a  wife — 

But  my  dreams  will  remember. 

His  love  is  my  life ! 

I've  not  seen  his  face; 
He  is  gone,  says  the  village. 
And  I — God  have  grace — 
I  have  paid  William's  kisses, 


112 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

I  wear  his  gold  ring. 
But  when  life  wears  me  out 
Take  it  dead  from  my  fingers. 
It  would  cry  my  soul  false 
When  I  stand  'fore  the  King. 

The  Wife  of  Waibingen 

A  watchman  lived  in  Waibingen 

Within  an  ancient  tower; 
His  clock  and  he  watched  years  go  by 

The  while  they  told  the  hour. 

Each  day  he  climbed  the  narrow  stairs, 
Cramped  in  their  walls  of  stone, 

His  dulled  heart  said,  "It  is  not  good 
For  man  to  be  alone." 

So  he  a  buxom  maiden  brought, 
Who  climbed  the  stairs  with  him, 

And  ne'er  went  down  to  gad  about 
But  kept  the  tower  trim. 

So  years  went  by  in  Waibingen 

As  years  are  sure  to  go, 
Till  he  grew  old,  and  climbed  the  stairs 

With  heavy  step  and  slow. 

She  would  have  climbed  the  narrow  stairs 
Cramped  in  their  walls  of  stone, 

And  helped  her  husband,  but  could  not — 
She'd  too  prodigious  grown. 

So  when  fate's  horologe  for  him 
Struck  out  life's  passing  hour, 

He  left  her  where  she  long  had  been 
Safe  seated  in  the  tower. 

Now,  when  we  die,  the  world  goes  on ;     „ 

Men  step  into  our  shoes, 
And  get  more  than  they  bargained  for; 

Perhaps  we  gain,  they  lose. 


'The  sentinels  on  the  shore" 


The  Wreck  of  the  Benjamin  Noble 
Page  118 


JOHN  O'  DREAMS 113 

Howe'er  that  is,  I  do  not  know, 

'Tis  neither  here  nor  there; 
A  watchman  came  to  Waibingen 

And  climbed  that  narrow  stair. 

And  there  he  found  awaiting  him 

A  fortune  and  a  wife. 
They  could  not  turn  their  back  on  him, 

So  he  took  them  both  for  life. 

Still  faithful  to  her  home  and  tasks 

The  wife  sits  in  the  tower; 
Though  men  may  come  and  men  may  go, 

The  clock  still  strikes  the  hour. 

With  a  Gift  of  Flowers 

The  old,  old  earth  had  since  its  birth 

Been  always  hard  and  bare, 
Till  one  of  the  thoughts  of  God  fell  down 

And  flowers  were  everywhere. 


With  a  Letter 

I  kissed  the  letter,  dear,  I  sent. 

I  wonder  if  the  letter  knows! 
My  fingers  trembled  half  afraid 

They'd  tell  the  story  ere  the  close. 

They  did  not  tell  it,  did  they,  dear? 

They  knew  I  wanted  to  be  good. 
And  yet  the  story  is  so  sweet 

I  fear  the  kissed  page  understood. 


The  Winter  Fleet 

In  banks  of  fog  against  the  dawn  of  day 
The  ice-bound  boats,  gray  ghosts  of  commerce,  loom ; 
Shorn  Samsons  from  the  Great  Lakes'  broad  highway, 
By  more  than  brazen  fetters,  locked  in  gloom. 


114 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

Woman  of  the  Mart 

God  made  waxen  fingers, 
God  made  woman's  heart; 

Man  it  was  made  commerce, 
Pushed  her  to  the  mart. 

She  can  labor  singing, 
She  can  do  her  part; 

Ever  phantom  fingers 
Tug  though  at  her  heart. 


Woman's  World  Conquest 

On  the  hard  rough  fields, 
Torn  by  trench  and  shot, 
With  his  own  red  blood 
In  a  hard  browned  clot, 
Lay  his  mother's  son. 

The  stars  stared  down 
From  the  pitiless  sky, 
And  he  stared  back 
With  glazing  eye. 

For  hundreds  of  miles 
He  lay  in  his  blood ; 
And  no  hand  helped  him 
Out  of  the  mud, 
Out  of  the  agony 
Onto  a  cot — 
Why,  it  seemed  that 
Even  God  forgot! 

No  field  was  won ! 

No  good  was  done ! 

For  hundreds  of  miles 

In  the  dark  he  lay 

And  death  was  the  only  one 

Came  that  way, 

The  only  one 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 115 

For  this  mother's  son — 

The  thousands  of  him 

That  were  seen  by  day, 

Young  and  strong,  and  shot  away 

From  on  this  earth, 

That  had  need  of  him, 

Young  and  strong, 

And  for  generations 

Will  cry  the  wrong 

Of  killing  him  there — 

For  that  upturned  stare, 

For  that  hard  browned  blood — 

And  it  did  no  good, 

His  death — to  any, 

It  did  no  good! 

Oh,  when  will  it  be 

For  his  mother's  son 

That  these  ghastly  deeds 

Can  not  be  done? 

That  the  young  and  strong 

Be  not  forced  to  die, 

And  the  old  and  weak 

To  hunger  and  cry, 

When  will  it  be 

For  the  mother's  son? 

It  will  be  when  the  last 

Great  field  is  won, 

And  the  mothers  who  bore  them 

Shall  call  for  peace, 

Shall  demand  that  murder 

By  nations  cease — 

Shall  get  the  vision, 

That  mothers  have  done, 

Of  a  babe  that  lay 

On  His  mother's  breast, 

And  brought  our  old  earth 

Peace  and  rest, 

Till  He  rules  mankind, 

That  mother's  Son ! 


116 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

The  Woolly  Lamb 

Just  a  woolly  lamb,  my  child, 

Broken  at  your  play. 
Come  and  lift  your  face  to  mine. 

Tears,  you  go  away. 

Just  a  little  woolly  lamb 

Gotten  at  the  store; 
No  one  meant  to  step  on  it, 

We  can  get  you  more. 

If  they're  not  the  very  same, 

It  was  but  a  toy. 
Who  was  once  so  big  and  brave? 

Where's  our  soldier  boy? 

When  we  grown  folks  break  our  lambs 

We  can  make  no  noise, 
We  must  close  our  lips  and  be 

Sturdy  soldier  boys. 

The  Word  Absolute 

Beyond  the  reach  of  human  hands  lies  justice; 

Beyond  the  trick  of  human  mouths  lies  truth : 
And  in  the  wilderness  of  nations'  annals 

As  Sinii  thunders,  man  must  list  forsooth. 

The  Word  Was  God 

In  the  deep  of  Northland  winter 

The  winds  are  dry  and  keen, 
And  great  stars  blaze  in  deep  blue  cold 

O'er  pines  that  wait  in  green 
And  lisp  a  word  from  the  depths  of  their  heart 

Of  the  things  not  known  or  seen. 

The  nature  folk  dread  no  morrow, 
The  word  is  the  law  they  know : 

So,  sure  to  the  running  water 
The  deer  fleet-footed  go; 

And  the  trembling,  snow-turned  rabbits 
Leap  where  the  dried  stalks  blow. 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 117 

The  muskrat,  Egypt's  builder, 

Makes  her  pyramid  arise; 
And  last  year's  nest  of  eagles 

On  dead  pines  sweep  the  skies; 
And  the  little  birds  carol  abroad  the  word, 

That  all  in  nature  lies. 


The  Working  Woman 

There  was  no  home  in  the  wide  world  for  me. 
A  tender  girl,  I  stood  with  wide-oped  eyes 
And  heart  that  quite  misgave  me,  as  I  asked 
Where  was  my  shelter.     Then  I  did  not  know — 
I  was  too  young — although  I  half  suspected, 
Felt  with  woman's  instinct  what  I  later  knew, 
There  was  no  home  in  the  wide  world  for  me. 

The  age  I  lived  in  was  an  age  of  gold, 

An  age  of  commerce  and  prosperity, 

An  age  that  drove  her  women  to  the  marts, 

Shutting  the  door  of  home  upon  them, 

And  forced  them  with  the  lash  to  slavish  toil 

If  they  would  keep  their  virgin  innocence. 

And  so  I  went  and  toiled  and  slaved  with  others. 

But  at  first  my  woman's  heart  cried  out  for  home, 

Nor  would  for  long  be  stilled,  but  oft  cried  out 

For  its  great  primal  instincts,  babes  and  home. 

But  being  long  denied,  to  save  itself, 

It  ceased  at  last  to  kick  against  the  pricks, 

But  looked  about  for  woman's  tasks  to  do. 

And  there  it  found  them :  tired  hearts  to  soothe ; 

The  broken,  bind;  the  young  ones  to  sustain; 

To  all  hearts  ever  to  be  gentle,  kind. 

And  last  my  heart  had  peace,  although  an  instinct 

cried, 

A  weak,  sick  voice  from  night-times  unto  me, 
"Daughter,  in  all  the  world,  thou  hast  no  home." 


118 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

The  Wreck  of  the  Benjamin  Noble 

Deep  in  the  night  the  pines  were  waked, 

The  sentinels  on  the  shore, 

That  watched  while  the  gale  its  fury  spent, 

The  lights  of  the  cities  and  lighthouses  went, 

And  no  man  said  to  the  waves,  "No  more!" 

The  pines  waked  hushed  in  the  deathlike  black 

And  the  old  fell  on  their  face, 

For  the  time  had  come  for  sons  of  men, 

And  trees  must  watch  in  their  place. 

A  frighted  whisper,  a  sob,  a  sigh, 

A  groan  like  a  man  in  pain ; 

They  lifted  their  faces  to  the  sky, 

They  reached  in  the  dark  and  rain. 

But  the  clouds  hung  pall-thick  over  the  pines, 

And  trees  may  not  stir  in  their  place, 

But  only  sob  aloud  in  the  night 

When  men  perish  before  their  face; 

When  their  souls  go  out  from  the  mad,  black  waves, 

Go  past  on  the  groaning  wind. 

Their  groaning  souls  on  the  groaning  wind, 

With  the  lightning  flashes  mixed  mad  blind, 

The  souls  and  the  flash  and  the  groan  of  them  both, 

To  part  with  the  earth  and  its  clouds  so  loath ; 

While  the  great  pines  tossed  and  sobbed  aloud 

To  see  such  things  as  the  blackness  showed. 

But  they  had  to  stand  in  their  place. 

And  no  man  knew  where  the  boat  went  down 

On  our  great  unsalted  sea; 

And  no  one  wept  but  a  woman  in  town 

Who  stirred  in  her  sleep  as  she  saw  him  drown, 

Miles  from  the  place  where  he 

Cried  aloud  to  God  and  to  her, 

Till  in  her  sleep  it  made  her  stir, 

His  cry  from  eternity. 

But  nobody  knew,  the  people  said, 
And  nobody  wept  the  ore-boat's  dead 
As  they  died  in  that  awful  lake. 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 119 

But  men  were  mistaken,  for  high  on  the  shore 
The  sentinel  pines  were  awake, 
And  they  moaned  aloud  to  Nature's  God, 
And  they  moan  f orevermore ! 


Some  Flowers  from  the  Gardens  of  the 
Minnesingers 

The  following  are  a  few  of  the  famous  lyrics  of  the  Middle 
Ages.  The  author  has  attempted  to  be  as  liberal  as  possible  in 
her  translation.  Of  those  by  Walther  von  der  Vogelweide  one 
is  chosen  as  illustrating  the  quaint  conceits  worked  in  rhyme 
schemes,  and  one  as  showing  the  desire  to  go  on  Crusades,  both 
of  which  tendencies  are  characteristic  of  the  times. 


Four  Anonymous  Poems 

Methinks  there  is  naught  so  lovely,  so  with  praise 
replete, 

As  the  dainty  rosebud,  and  the  true  love  of  my  sweet. 

The  merry  little  birds 

They're  singing  in  the  woodland.  To  many  a  heart 
that's  dear. 

But  if  my  lover  comes  not,  I  shall  have  no  summer- 
glories  here. 

Let  us  tread  the  dances 
Now,  sweetheart  mine; 
Greet  with  happy  glances 
May  whose  mornings  shine. 
The  winter  caused  the  heather 
Long  worrying  dread ; 
But  he  is  departed. 
He's  held  by  merry-hearted 
Blossoms,  white  and  red. 

In  gladsome  colors  stands  the  wold, 

The  songs  of  birds  resounding. 
The  beauties  are  growing  manifold. 

May  crowns  with  joy  abounding 


120 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

Longing  affection.     Who'd  be  old 
When  spring  is  all  adorning? 

Sweet  May  time,  you  the  breezes  hold. 
The  winter  we  are  scorning. 


From  a  Love  Letter 

Thou  art  mine,  I  am  thine, 

Thus  always  shalt  thou  be, 

For  thou  art  fastened 

Within  my  bosom, 

Lost  is  the  little  key, 

So  in  there  thou  must  ever  be. 


Two  Poems  by  Dietmar  von  Aist 

Ah,  now  there  comes  to  us  the  time 
When  all  the  little  birdlings  sing. 
The  linden  broad  is  growing  green, 
The  winter  long  is  vanishing. 
And  flowers  fair  to  look  upon 
We  see  upon  the  heather  shine. 
It  makes  the  hearts  of  many  glad: 
And  just  these  things  can  comfort  mine. 

There  stood  a  maiden  lonely 

And  waited  on  the  heather 

And  waited  for  her  lover. 

She  saw  the  birds  fly  over: 

"I  greet  thee,  falcon,  that  thou  art! 

Thou  flyest  where  it  please  thy  heart : 

And  thou  choosest  in  the  woodland 

The  tree  which  seemeth  goodly. 

And  also  I  have  done  like  thee: 

A  loved  one  I  have  chosen  me ; 

The  one  my  eyes  have  taken, 

Why  should  it  rancor  waken? 

The  fair  maids  envy  me  this  one, 

And  I  have  envied  them  the  lover  true  of  none. 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 121 

A  Song  of  the  Mystics 
(Johannes  Tauler,  1300) 

There  comes  a  ship  well  laden 

Up  to  the  highest  wale, 
It  brings  the  Son  of  the  Father, 

Eternal  Word.     All  hail! 

The  little  ship  is  gliding 

All  still  the  waves  atween, 
It  brings  us  a  gift  most  precious, 

The  blessed,  gracious  Queen. 

O,  Mary,  thou  rose  exalted, 

A  branch  of  all  that's  blest, 
Thou  beautiful  narcissus, 

Free  us  with  sin  oppressed. 

The  ship  that  goes  so  calmly 
And  bears  such  precious  last, 

The  sail  is  Love  incarnate, 
The  Holy  Ghost,  the  mast. 

Four  Poems  by  Walther  von  der  Vogelweide 
The  Reed-Measuring 

With  doubting  and  despondent  heart 

I  sat  for  long  and  gravely  pondered 

How  from  her  service  I  would  part 

But  comfort  came  before  I  wandered. 

It  scarcely  may  be  called  a  comfort,  woe,  say  I, 

'Tis  but  the  littlest  comfort,  I'll  agree, 

So  little  that  if  I  should  tell  it,  you'd  laugh  at  me. 

Yet  none's  e'er  made  happy,  and  knows  not  why. 

It  was  a  grass  brought  joy,  indeed, 

It  said  she'd  favor  me  in  suing. 

I  measured  on  a  little  reed 

As  I  had  seen  the  children  doing. 

Now  hearken  and  notice  if  she  loves  me  true  : 

"She  does,  she  does  not,  she  does,  she  does  not,  she 

does." 

As  oft  as  I  did  it,  always  was  the  end,  she  loves. 
That  comforts  me:  it  takes  faith  to  believe  it  too. 


122 JOHN   O'  DREAMS 

Surfeit  of  Winter 

The  world  was  golden,  red  and  gay, 
Green  in  the  forest  and  country  way ; 

The  little  birdies  sang  all  the  day. 
But  now  the  cawing  crows  inveigh. 

She  now  wears  other  colors?    Yea: 
She's  grown  all  pale  and  dismal  gray. 

And  frowns  on  many  foreheads  stay. 

I  sat  upon  a  hillside  free, 

And  flowers  and  clover  sprang  round  me 
To  shut  me  from  the  smiling  sea. 

But  now  the  view  is  lost,  where  we 
Picked  the  blossoms,  I  and  she; 

Now  frost  and  snow  lie  on  the  lea, 
It  makes  the  birdlings  sad  I  see. 

The  simple  wail,  "O,  dear!     O,  my!" 
The  poor,  "Alas!    Alack!"  they  cry. 

A  weight  like  lead  my  spirits  lie 
I  have  of  cares  so  great  supply. 

But  be  they  e'er  so  many,  I 

Know  all  at  once  away  they'd  fly 

If  but  the  summer-time  drew  nigh. 

Before  I  long  existed  so 

I'd  eat  my  crawfish  raw,  I  know. 

Summer,  cheer  us,  be  not  slow; 

You  make  the  mead  and  woodland  blow. 

Then  to  pick  the  flowers  I'll  go, 
In  the  sun  my  heart  will  glow 

That  the  winter  hunted  low. 

Like  Esau  I  have  lost  my  due: 
My  hair  so  soft  has  grown  askew. 

Lovely  summer,  where  are  you? 

I'd  like  to  have  ploughed  fields  in  view. 

Before  I'd  be  shut  up  anew 
In  such  a  trap,  as  now  I  rue, 

I  would  be  a  monk  at  Dobrilu. 


JOHN   O'  DREAMS 123 

Morning  Prayer 

With  blessings  would  I  arise  for  to-day, 

Jehovah,  in  thy  protection  stay 

As  I  ride  or  go,  in  what  land  I  tarry. 

Christ,  master,  make  it  shown  to  me, 

Thy  wondrous  power  of  sanctity, 

And  for  thy  mother'  sake  my  welfare  carry. 

As  o'er  thee  watched  the  angels  holy 

And  thine,  when  thou  in  the  crib  so  lowly, 

Young  as  man  and  old  as  God, 

Laidst  'mong  the  donkeys  and  the  cattle  in  the 

stable 

(And  yet  with  wondrous  blessed  guiding, 
Gabriel,  the  good,  abiding 
Full  of  love  and  by  thee  awed), 
So  care  for  mine  I  love,  as  thou  art  able, 
For  them  I  ask  Thy  grace,  O,  Lord. 


Then  and  Now 

Ah  me!  how  find  I  vanished        all  my  years  from 

view! 
Can  I  have  dreamed  my  life  were  thus,        can  it  be 

it's  true? 

Or  have  I  ever  fancied        something  that  was  not? 
And  so  I  have  been  sleeping        having  quite  forgot. 
Now  I  have  been  wakened,        the  things  are  strange 

I  see, 

That  used  to  be  familiar,        as  my  own  hand  to  me. 
People  and  places  where  I         from  childhood  have 

been  living 
Have  grown  so  unaccustomed,        it  seems  the  lie 

they're  living. 
And  those  who  were  my  playmates,        have  grown 

subdued  and  old. 
Ploughed  farther  is  the  field,        hewn  down  is  the 

wold: 

If  e'en  the  water's  flowing  on,      as  it  used  to  flow, 
Indeed  it  seems  to  me,        that  my  misfortunes  grow. 


124  _  JOHN   O'  DREAMS  _ 

Many  hesitate  to  greet  me,         who  formerly  knew 

me  well. 
The  world  is  filled  with  troubles         more  than  I  can 

tell. 
I  can  but  think  how  many  a  day         wondrous  glad 

and  free, 

Now  is  wholly  lost  to  me        as  ripples  in  the  sea, 
Ever  more,  ah  me  ! 

Ah  me!  how  very  doleful  all  the  young  folks  go! 
Whose  faces  lit  with  pleasure  once  were  shining  so, 
They  now  know  naught  but  sorrow  :  why  do  they 

so,  ah  me? 
Where'er  I  turn  there's  no  one         in  the  world  knows 

glee; 
Dancing,  aye  and  singing         are  wholly  changed  to 


„ 

No  Christian  ever  saw  such  years  and  no  relief. 
Now,  notice  too  the  women's  garlands  in  such 

plight; 
The  haughty  knights  are  dressing         as  a  peasant 

might. 

We  get  unpleasant  letters  late  from  Rome  directed, 
Our  joys  are  all  forbidden  and  all  our  woes  pro 

tected. 

It  hurts  my  very  spirit  (we  lived  in  happy  years), 
That  I  in  place  of  laughter  ought  to  choose  for 

tears. 

And  we  complain  so  much  the  little  birds  deplore  it  : 
What  wonder  is  it  I  am  gravely  doubting  o'er  it? 
And  what  do  I,  foolish  man,  o'erwrought  by  anger 

say? 
Who  follows  this  sweet  wonder,  he        has  that  one 

lost  for  aye. 
Ever  more,  ah  me! 

Ah  me!  we  cloy  of  sweets        so  soon  'tis  worth  our 

noting. 
I    can  see   the  gall   so   bitter         within   the   honey 

floating: 
The  world  is  outward  lovely,        green  and  red  and 

white, 


JOHN   O'   DREAMS 125 

And   inward   sable   colored,        dark   as  death   and 

night. 
And  when  the  world's  deceiving,        denying  him  its 

cheer : 
He  can  with  easy  penance        from  mighty  sins  get 

clear. 
'Tis   an   affair,    brave   knight,    that        you   should 

gladly  hail : 
For  you  wear  shining  helmet,        and  heavy  coat  of 

mail, 
The  best  and   firmest  buckler,        and  consecrated 

blade. 

Would  to  God  that  I         but  worthy  such  were  made ! 
So  would  I,  needy  man,        deserve  a  rich  reward. 
I  do  not  mean  the  feudal  gifts,        neither  gold  of 

lord: 

I'd  wear  a  crown  of  glory        ever  and  forever: 
And  this  a  common  soldier        might  win  with  his 

endeavor. 
Might  I  but  make  the  journey        so  blest  across  the 

sea, 
Then  would  I  forever  sing  "All's  well"        and  never 

more,  "Ah  me!" 


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